BORN 
FOOL 


THE 

BORN  FOOL 

BY 

JOHN  WALTER  BYRD 


NEW  XSJr  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


».       »»f       *  '  m  f    Bin        Y~  •**¥*& 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


UNIV.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  LOS  ANGEtES 


THE  BORN  FOOL 


2126035 


THE  BORN  FOOL 


CHAPTEK  I 

THE  small  spot  of  sunlight,  a  perfect  circle  on  the 
church  wall,  was  itself  a  little  sun.  It  used  to  glow 
there  so  friendly ;  and  then  sometimes  it  would  begin  fading, 
changing,  moving  slowly  along,  suddenly  to  melt  and  vanish. 
The  child  Kirk  would  remain  gazing  at  the  wall,  waiting  for 
the  small  disc  of  hot  sunlight  to  return  and  look  back  at  him. 

To  him  this  place  was  very  solemn — filled  with  holiness; 
and  his  mother  knelt  and  prayed  beside  him  at  times,  while 
he  sat  still.  But  on  occasions,  especially  upon  Good  Friday, 
his  knees  had  felt  a  bruised  itchiness  long  before  the  end  of 
those  prayers  he  tried  to  understand. 

But  he  loved  much  to  come  here  with  Mary,  his  sister,  and 
his  mother,  to  listen  with  secret  child's  passion  to  the  organ; 
to  watch  his  elder  brother,  an  acolyte,  holding  the  incense- 
boat  ;  and  when  the  organ  stopped  playing  he  looked  for  the 
small  circle  to  come  glowing  on  the  wall.  The  fine  shaft  of 
sunlight  came  through  an  old  bullet-hole  high  up  in  the  dark 
crimson-purple  window.  Turning  right  round  one  day,  Kirk 
had  discovered  it — a  dazzling  spot.  The  drifting  incense 
floated  through  the  long  fine  rod  of  light,  and  the  motes  of 
the  air  twinkled  in  it  like  the  dust  of  gold  in  lapis  lazuli. 
The  brilliant  beam  seemed  to  end  in  the  air,  and  be  pointing 
to  the  warm  spot  upon  the  wall.  While  the  disc  of  sunlight 
remained,  the  child  gazed  on  it  and  vividly  dreamed.  He 
called  up  oftenest  the  little  troll-man,  read  of  in  the  worn 
leather-backed  fairy  book,  and  seen  in  those  tiny  olden  etch- 

7 


8  THE   BORN   FOOL 

ings  full  of  the  magical,  of  "once  upon  a  time" — where  the 
wee  shepherd-dwarf  leaps,  doubled  up  and  laughing,  into  the 
flock  of  cloud-sheep  that  rest  reflected  far  below  in  the  calm 
lake.  Kirk  would  dream  on  strangely  and  deliciously,  until 
the  glowing  spot  slowly  changed  and  moved  before  it  vanished. 

Each  Sunday,  after  his  mother  had  received  the  Holy 
Sacrament  she  prayed  there,  kneeling  upright  beside  him. 
And  now  the  organ  played  sweetly,  always  the  same  anthem ; 
the  blending  voices  joined  in,  and  filled  the  child  with  rap- 
ture. The  heavenly  sound  ascended  and  ascended  into  the 
dim  height,  filling  the  air  with  clear  echoings. 

At  these  moments  of  the  Eucharistic  celebration,  profound 
reverence  awakened  in  the  child. 

Though  he  but  dimly  understood  the  rite  he  felt  that  it  was 
deeply  mystical  and  very  holy. 

Encompassing  himself — surcharging  the  lofty,  shadowy, 
and  beautiful  interior  of  the  building — he  conceived  a  host 
of  bright  forms:  angelic,  lovely,  invisible:  whose  golden  au- 
reola illumined  specially  his  mother. 

The  acolyte  brought  the  censer  before  the  altar  steps,  and 
on  the  shortened  chains  swung  the  curious  vessel  rather  quick- 
ly, that  the  charcoal  might  be  glowing  hot.  Of  finest  brass- 
work,  the  turreted  vase  was  ancient  in  form,  Assyrian,  less 
familiar  than  even  the  Egyptian.  It  was  like  those  in  the 
pictures  of  the  Temple — of  David  in  priestly  robes — those 
scenes  that  dwelt  strongly  in  the  child's  imagination.  The 
deacon  in  white  vestments  turned  to  the  acolyte.  He  took 
the  censer,  now  hanging  low  from  the  lengthened  chains. 
The  celebrant,  clothed  with  gold  and  scarlet  chasuble,  slowly 
turned  and  faced  the  kneeling  congregation.  The  scarlet 
showed  in  rich  folds ;  it  typified  the  Blood  shed  for  us ;  the 
gold,  Kirk  knew,  symbolised  Truth,  and  the  white  silk  showed 
Purity. 

As  the  deacon  moved  his  hands,  Kirk  watched  the  strange 
lid  travel  up  the  chains.  Then  the  acolyte,  coming  forward, 
reverently  and  with  both  hands  presented  the  incense-boat 


THE    BORN"   FOOL  9 

to  the  celebrant,  who  took  up  the  brazen  spoon  and  four  times 
shook  the  precious  spices  upon  the  cup  of  charcoal.  The  white 
cloud  instantly  ascended.  The  lid  was  lowered  by  the  deacon. 
And  now  from  him  the  celebrant  took  the  smoking  vessel,  to 
swing  it  to  and  fro,  then  over  and  over,  in  measured  sweeps 
before  the  altar.  The  growing  cloud  ascended  slowly;  the 
anthem,  too,  ascended  in  ecstatic  sweet  crescendo: 

"Incense,  and  a  pure  offering1,  0  Lord,  to  Thee  we  bring, 
And  when  the  cloud  covers  the  mercy-seat, 
Look  down  upon  Thy  people,  and  speak  peace,  speak  peace  .  .  ." 

The  incense  filled  the  whole  church  with  a  dim  haze  and 
with  its  own  unique  scent.  This  ever  was  the  most  sacred  time 
of  ministration.  Expectantly,  the  boy  of  eight  years  watched 
his  mother  as  she  knelt  upright,  very  graceful  and  slender — 
her  eyes  shut,  the  long  beautiful  fingers  enlaced  on  her  bosom. 
The  fragile  ornaments  trembled  upon  her  hat;  and  then, 
sometimes — as  on  to-day — she  spoke  with  a  clear  thrilling 
voice,  beautifully  cadenced ;  she  was  gifted  with  prophecy ;  it 
was  the  Holy  Ghost  speaking  through  the  chosen  one.  The 
sweet  andante  of  the  organ  died  almost  away  that  she  might 
be  heard.  Kirk  knew  what  this  was ;  he  had  asked  his  mother 
many  times  about  these  things.  He  could  see  the  deacon 
quickly  writing  down  her  words.  In.  the  still  church  his 
mother's  beautiful  voice  came  back  from  the  high  roof  like  a 
silver  bell  rung  low  and  softly.  The  fourfold  company  of 
ministers  sat  moveless  in  the  chancel.  Kirk  also  knelt  down 
close  beside  her,  and  shut  his  eyes.  Virtue  seemed  to  come 
from  the  mother  to  the  child,  as  he  leaned  himself  a  little, 
gently  and  reverently,  to  touch  her. 

Joyously  the  Te  Deum  ended  the  service.  Afterwards,  on 
to-day,  as  usual,  many  people  spoke  quietly  with  the  Clintons, 
or  they  smiled  and  bowed  from  distant  pews.  Kirk  went 
home  with  his  mother  and  his  sedate  self-possessed  little 
sister.  They  walked  through  the  delightful  sunshine  in  the 
wide  roads  and  avenues  of  Mead  Wells.  The  way  was  filled 


10  THE    BORN   FOOL 

with  people  returning  from  other  churches.  Flashing  car- 
riages drawn  by  prancing  horses  were  going  slowly  past,  and 
a  wonderful  number  of  old  ladies  were  gliding  home  in  Bath- 
chairs. 

Kirk's  father  was  a  civil  engineer;  and  in  the  Apostolic 
Church  he  was  a  lay-evangelist.  At  this  time  he  was  not 
abroad,  and  presently  he  would  return  home  from  the  vestries. 
Ted,  two  years  the  senior  of  Kirk,  would  come  with-  him. 

Mrs.  Clinton  and  her  two  younger  children  now  came  to  a 
quiet  road.  The  old  and  heavy  garden  walls  on  either  side 
only  now  and  then  showed  gates.  The  houses  mostly  were 
hidden  by  big  trees.  These  grew  far  out  over  the  secluding 
walls,  and  thus  deeply  shaded  the  pathways ;  then,  too,  there 
were  large  trees  here  and  there  growing  at  the  edges  of  the 
roadway,  with  flat  iron  grating  round  their  boles  to  let  the 
roots  be  watered.  The  road  curved  up,  steeper  and  steeper, 
till  a  dark  high  wood  seemed  to  close  the  distant  end. 

Dense  growths  of  lilac,  laburnum,  acacia,  and  old  hawthorn 
leaned  over  these  walls  in  many  places ;  you  could  smell  their 
fragrance  as  you  walked;  and  to-day  little  twirling  cater- 
pillars hung  down  on  their  gossamer  threads  and  swung  into 
Kirk's  face. 

The  Clintons  stopped  outside  a  high  and  solid  double-gate. 
Kirk,  exercising  a  privilege  of  which  he  was  jealous,  at  once 
stretched  up  and  with  gloved  hands  took  hold  of  the  twisted 
iron  ring,  made  an  effort,  and  opened  the  smaller  gate.  "Ben- 
cleuch  Lodge"  in  gilded  letters  was  the  name  on  the  larger 
leaf.  From  inside  the  gates  a  long  gravel  drive  that  went 
curving  through  a  delightful  seclusion,  led  to  the  house. 
Vistas  of  lawns  and  flowers  showed  beyond  the  high  shrub- 
beried  mounds.  A  stately  cedar  tree  spread  out  halfway  down 
the  garden,  and  through  this  dark  mass,  and  beneath  the 
thick  old  hawthorns,  one  caught  the  gleam  of  a  white  French- 
looking  house.  A  great  Burgundy  pear  tree,  unprunable  as 
an  elm,  rose  high  near  the  house  and  hid  all  the  right-hand 
gables. 


THE   BORN   FOOL  11 

Old,  irregular,  and  very  high  walls,  part  of  yellow  stone, 
part  of  old  white-jointed  red  brickwork,  enclosed  this  ancient 
home  and  gardens.  In  many  parts  these  thick  and  crumbling 
walls  were  covered  or  canopied  with  deep  ivy,  and  against 
the  sunny  spaces  were  trained  apricot  and  greengage  trees, 
all  very  neatly  spread  out  and  fastened  to  the  walls  by  dozens 
of  bits  of  white  leather. 

The  moment  Kirk,  Mrs.  Clinton  and  her  little  daughter 
had  entered  this  place  of  peace,  Mary  stopped,  shook  back 
her  fine  jetty  curls,  put  her  face  up  to  a  rose  of  an  almost 
velvet-black  damask  and  exclaimed  vivaciously — 

"Oh,  mother!  Do  let  us  gather  father's  rose  before  the 
errand  boys  steal  it!" 

Mrs.  Clinton,  smiling  a  little  to  herself,  gave  her  pink  par- 
asol to  Kirk,  then  gently  severed  the  stalk  and  put  the  dark 
rose  in  Mary's  shapely  little  hand. 


CHAPTER  II 

IN  these  three  children — Kirk,  his  elder  brother  Ted,  and 
Mary — lived  a  strong  sense  of  demarcation.  Between 
themselves  they  had  drawn  gradually  a  suzerainty  over  every 
tree  and  mound  and  every  flower-bed  and  shrubbery.  Kirk 
had  settled  all  the  final  boundaries;  and  when  their  mother 
knew,  she  had  left  things  alone,  excepting  only  when  dispute 
arose.  The  shady  summer-house  belonged  to  Mary.  It  smelt 
green  and  woody,  and  stood  beneath  the  sweeping  cedar  in  a 
dark  angle  of  the  walls,  where,  unexpectedly,  the  garden 
widened.  These  children  were  all  minutely  "on  their  hon- 
our." Neither  boy  went  in  the  summer-house  without  first 
asking  permission  of  his  little  sister. 

The  old  damask  rose-tree  near  the  gates  had  been  named 
"Father's  tree" ;  for  errand-boys  and  others  who  found  them- 
selves unobserved — so  far  from  the  house — yearly  pillaged 
the  rich  blooms,  and  the  children  very  naively  had  bestowed 
this  rose-tree  on  their  father. 

Mary  had  rights  also  over  two  of  those  tempting  mounds, 
and  these  were  called  "Mary's  rockeries."  Really,  they  were 
two  neighbouring  islands  of  hidden  ruddy  soil  standing  up 
in  a  sea  of  smooth  lawn,  and  both  were  densely  grown 
with  Indian  currants,  old  lilacs,  small  scented  beam-trees, 
cherry-trees,  and  yellow  rhododendrons.  But  one  could  not 
see  beneath  them  for  their  high,  thick  borders,  for  each 
mound  had  a  rich  belt  of  pampas-grass  and  purple  iris,  man- 
drake and  peonies,  broom  bushes,  dwarf  white  cabbage-roses, 
and  big  tiger-lilies  that  yellowed  your  nose  with  pollen  when 
you  smelt  them. 

In  summer,  after  creeping  in  through  the  border,  to  sit 
quite  hidden  away  in  the  scented  hollow  spaces  on  these 

12 


THE    BORN    FOOL  13 

mounds — leaf-roofed  and  patterned  beneath  by  sunflecks — 
was  halcyon  to  Kirk.  Under  the  bushes  the  dry  red  ground 
of  the  mounds  was  covered  with  dead  needles,  fallen  from  the 
cedar;  and  beneath  the  thick  roof  of  leaves  there  were  such 
woody  smells,  and  it  was  so  dark  and  shady  and  secret.  The 
dead  cedar-needles  stuck  in  Kirk's  guernsey  and  stockings. 
If  he  turned  up  a  stone  the  rusty-hued  centipedes  began  run- 
ning off,  and  the  wood-lice  all  curled  up  quickly  into  little 
balls.  Curled  up  thus,  Kirk  had  blown  them  through  his  pea- 
shooter at  Mary.  He  said  it  did  not  hurt  them  because  they 
fell  in  the  grass. 

Kirk  was  always  setting  himself  laws,  and  persuading  or 
impressing  the  others  to  conform  to  them.  Mary  allowed 
him  to  "make  mud"  in  the  hole  in  her  summer-house  table. 
This  table  was  really  the  top  of  a  sycamore  trunk,  sawn  off 
years  ago  and  now  standing  up  through  the  middle  of  the  floor. 
The  boards  had  been  cut  and  fitted  round  the  big  trunk  where 
it  went  down  into  the  ground.  In  the  flat-topped  centre  a 
hole  had  rotted  out,  and  with  his  knife  Kirk  had  dug  it  larger. 
He  had  ordained  to  Ted — "No  going  in  at  the  door  except 
Mary." 

So,  for  weeks,  the  little  brothers  went  arduously  in  and  out 
through  a  very  small  window — high  up,  it  seemed  to  them — 
in  the  faded  blue  wooden  sides.  First  they  mounted  in  turn 
on  the  topmost  of  two  giant  flower-pots  that  stood  inverted  one 
on  the  other  like  clowns'  hats.  Balancing  themselves  on  this 
pedestal,  they  reached  up  for  the  window  bottom,  then  hauled 
themselves  up,  squeezed  through,  and,  with  spread  feet  in  the 
window  corners,  let  themselves  down,  one  outstretched  hand 
on  the  table  beneath,  the  other  grasping  a  big  nail  not  far 
down  inside.  To  get  back  one  knelt  on  the  table,  walked 
one's  feet  heels  first  up  to  the  window,  felt  for  the  nail  with 
one  hand,  and  so  shuffled  out  backwards.  The  clay-mud, 
after  being  mixed  to  a  proper  stiffness,  was  by  Kirk  made 
into  dozens  of  queer  shapes.  As  he  made  them  he  gave  each 


14  THE   BOKN   FOOL 

a  strange  name,  so  strange  indeed  that  by  next  day  he  could 
remember  but  few:  and  often  he  would  rename  them. 

These  fantastic  part-human-animal-vegetable  shapes  fasci- 
nated Ted  and  Mary,  caused  odd  surmise  in  his  mother,  and 
mystified  his  father.  Mr.  Clinton  twice  stood  and  gazed  long 
at  them  in  silence,  and  went  away  without  speaking.  Mary 
like  best  the  "kindybo,"  and  for  her  Kirk  made  many  vari- 
ations. It  was  a  sort  of  long  bull  on  six  legs,  and  there  were 
certain  fixed  rules  about  the  form  of  a  true  "kindybo."  The 
left-side  legs  were  running  backward,  the  right-side  were 
running  forward.  It  always  had  a  slanting  skyward  face 
that  smiled  idiotically.  The  two  thin  horns  always  pointed 
straight  up.  Kirk  said  that  no  matter  how  it  moved  its  head 
the  horns  always  pointed  quite  straight  up.  "Grass-hair" 
grew  down  its  back,  for  kindyboes  were  self-supporting,  they 
lived  always  on  each  other's  grass-hair.  It  grew  very  fast. 
They  ate  it  from  each  other's  backs  at  night,  walking  round 
and  round  in  pairs — first  one  way,  then  the  other  way.  This 
explained  their  legs.  They  used  only  one  set  of  legs  at  a  time. 
Kirk  was  sure  he  had  seen  kindyboes — they  had  come  up  to 
his  bedside  while  he  lay  awake.  They  were  quite  black.  They 
had  kind  faces  and  seemed  "bo-ish"  and  that  was  why  they 
were  called  "kindyboes."  At  night  they  could  easily  wade  up 
a  strong  slope  of  wind,  and  they  could  go  through  glass  when 
they  liked.  They  were  only  as  big  as  dachshunds,  and  their 
little  velvety  feet  made  no  noise.  They  were  very  kind,  and 
he  liked  them  to  come  in,  but  if  you  moved  they  went  invis- 
ible, they  were  so  timid. 

All  the  clay  forms  when  dry  were  destined  to  be  baked. 
Cook,  however,  was  often  adamant,  and  made  much  disap- 
pointment of  purpose.  But  when  Kirk  succeeded  he  took 
all  the  hardened  shapes,  and  with  much  care  and  thought 
distributed  them  in  the  garden,  in  rockeries  and  trees,  in 
"places  they  like." 

Kirk  loved  to  steal  into  the  high  dark  shrubbery  that  over- 
hung the  road,  to  listen  to  the  string  band  which  played 


THE    BORN   FOOL  15 

sometimes  at  evening  before  going-to-bed-time.  When  the 
scented  red  hawthorns  were  out  and  the  evening  moths  flut- 
tered around  him,  in  the  laburnums  and  lilac,  this  music 
ravished  him. 

His  mother  brought  from  Paris  a  curious  ivory  mannikin, 
whose  legs  and  arms  moved  about  to  any  posture ;  it  had  the 
quaint  shape,  the  magical  form  and  smile  of  those  wonderful 
tiny  people — Rumpelstiltsken,  and  the  little  talismanic 
dwarfs  who  loved  and  cared  for  Snowdrop.  Mrs.  Clinton 
gave  it  to  Kirk.  He  conceived  affection  for  this  small  elfin 
creature,  endowed  him  with  life,  did  not  loose  him  in  sleep, 
carried  him  about,  and  on  bright  summer  days  set  him  in 
the  slenderest  forks  among  the  blossoms  of  the  great  bushes. 
The  child,  in  his  rich  imagination,  himself  also  sat  in  the 
tree-tops,  whispering  among  the  leaves  and  sunlight,  among 
the  highest,  lightest,  slow-swaying  boughs,  and  the  little 
strange,  kind  mannikin  seemed  always  to  smile  back  at  him 
as  though  quite  alive.  Kirk  named  him  "Tickki." 

Fragrant  jessamine  on  green-painted  horizontal  trellises 
covered  one  entire  side  of  the  house  and  surrounded  the  tall 
French  windows.  One  morning  Kirk  had  balanced  "Tickki" 
astride  a  gently  inquiring  spray  of  jessamine  that  see-sawed 
up  and  down.  In  dreamy  delight  Kirk  watched  his  elf,  but 
slowly  turning  his  face  to  the  open  window  he  met  his 
mother's  gaze.  Her  expression  was  so  full  of  tenderness 
that  she  appeared  to  him  like  an  angel.  For  a  moment  or  two 
he  looked  back  into  her  eyes  with  all  his  power  of  love ;  their 
souls  mingled ;  it  was  too  great  for  him ;  he  turned  and  moved 
on,  spellbound  and  overcome. 

Some  of  the  fruit  trees  were  very  old,  yet  they  bore  abun- 
dantly, year  after  year.  The  ancient  gardener  pruned  them, 
and  filled  the  holes  in  the  rough  apricot-wood  with  clay,  which 
dried  to  a  pale  yellow-red.  Sometimes  with  slow  skill  he 
grafted  a  rose  or  two,  but  mostly  old  Ned  spent  his  time  in  the 
greenhouses,  or  he  was  weeding  and  mowing,  attending  to  the 


16  THE    BORN   FOOL 

poultry,  or  at  work  in  the  kitchen  garden.  A  grandson, 
strange,  industrious  and  silent,  helped  old  Ned. 

The  many,  many  beds  of  this  children's  paradise  were 
large  circles  and  crescents  of  old  standing ;  highly  mounded, 
full  of  annuals  and  self-seeding  flowers.  Ned  thinned  them 
out  a  little  in  the  spring  and  cleared  them  up  in  the  autumn, 
but  from  March  to  October  they  remained  untouched  and 
free  growing.  Agnes  Clinton  taught  her  children  the  names 
of  all  the  flowers,  and  they  knew  each  one — lupins  and  colum- 
bines, hollyhocks  and  tiger-lilies,  white  and  red  foxgloves, 
gilly-flowers,  and  tall  yellow  moth-mullein  that  grows  wild 
in  the  South — but  here  the  numberless  spires  of  moth-mullein 
bent  over  a  sweet  low  jungle  of  mignonette  and  love-in-a-mist, 
lush-creeping  moneywort,  regal  carnations,  and  little  groves 
of  clove-scented  white  pinks. 

All  the  tall  flowers  and  the  immense  clumps  of  pampas 
grass  and  peonies  made  charming  thickets  which  filled  the 
great  garden  with  hidden  glades,  where  the  child  Kirk  lurked 
and  dreamed  for  hours  through  the  rapt  moods  that  often 
folded  him. 

But  when  the  wind  blew  and  small  bright  clouds  raced  over 
the  azure  sky,  then  great  enterprise  filled  him.  He  dug  tun- 
nels with  his  knife  and  trowel,  but  mostly  with  his  hands ;  he 
worked  feverishly  in  the  summer-house,  or  climbed  into  the 
lead  trough  between  the  wood-house  and  the  stables.  There 
he  would  hammer  vigorously,  poke  about  industriously,  and 
make  strong  belief  he  was  "engineering,"  while  the  small 
dainty  Mary  waited  below,  duly  impressed  and  patient  for 
his  return. 

All  imaginative  statements  made  by  the  children  began 
with  the  word  "pretend" :  thus  they  were  not  untruthful.  The 
"tend"  became  with  Ted,  Kirk,  and  Mary  an  unconscious  and 
invariable  habit. 

Nowhere  showed  in  this  garden  the  naked  raked  earth — 
always  so  crude.  Here  it  was  quite  covered  by  a  soft  growth 
of  lowly  green  that  hid  white  violets,  or  by  patches  and 


THE   BOKN    FOOL  17 

patches  of  the  grey,  old-fashioned  woolly-wound-wort,  sleek 
as  a  hare's  foot,  and  rarely  seen  in  gardens  of  to-day.  The 
boys  often  pulled  these  thick  soft  leaves  to  stroke  and  tickle 
Mary's  cheeks,  and  even  their  mother's  when  they  caught  her 
in  the  girlish  humour  that  so  delighted  them.  Sometimes  a 
tame  rabbit,  released  on  the  lawns  and  thoughtlessly  un- 
watched,  would  disappear  for  days  and  quickly  grow  semi- 
wild.  Quite  unawares,  forgotten  flowers  would  bloom  and  be 
discovered  by  the  children.  Never  would  Kirk  forget  the 
sweet  changes  in  the  garden  each  time  the  family  returned 
after  two  months  spent  by  the  thunderous  rolling  of  the  far 
Welsh  shore. 

There  was  a  law  honourably  kept  as  to  fruit.  All  "wind- 
falls" were  free  to  those  who  first  found  them ;  but  one  could 
not  set  foot  off  gravel  or  grass  to  get  the  prize  if  it  lay  in  a 
flower-bed.  So  each  child  had  a  kitchen  spoon  tied  to  a  long 
stick.  This  was  Kirk's  invention ;  his  father  had  noticed  the 
device,  and  said  to  the  mother  in  his  terse  way — 

"The  boy's  clever !" 

On  summer  mornings,  having  dressed  at  a  great  rate — long 
before  breakfast — out  rushed  the  children.  If  shoes  were  not 
fully  laced  it  was  unfair  and  honour  was  soiled,  but  this 
rarely  happened — only  once  or  twice,  when  Mary,  handi- 
capped by  a  longer  toilet,  shorter  legs,  and  the  wiles  of  her 
sex,  had  been  found  guilty,  warned,  and  been  duly  forgiven 
by  "the  boys." 

Stick-spoons  in  hand,  they  raced,  eager,  shouting  and  laugh- 
ing, from  tree  to  tree,  while  thrushes  and  blackbirds  went 
hop-hopping  off  the  lawns  to  hide  among  the  flowers,  or  they 
flicked  away  and  dived  from  sight  beneath  the  stiff  box  bor- 
ders. The  view  hallo  came  first — a  wild  rush  round.  Then 
the  children  peered  and  searched  carefully  beneath  the  old 
box  borders — grown  higher  than  the  candytufts.  Next  they 
sought  amid  those  long  and  flowery  thickets  from  which  rose 
the  red  and  yellow  walls,  scooping  and  reaching  for  a  heavy 
plum,  a  wasp-eaten  Victoria,  a  Magnum  bonum,  a  luscious 


18  THE   BORN   FOOL 

greengage,  or  perchance  a  Burgundy  pear  gone  greenish- 
yellow  with  a  grub-hole  in  it.  In  October  they  found  only 
the  immense  William  pears  that  fell  among  the  dying  straw- 
berry leaves. 

The  old  garden  was  inexhaustible  of  experience  and  joy, 
and  by  stealth  Kirk  did  much  adventurous  climbing  in  the 
big  trees,  where  he  was  quite  hidden.  Many  times  he  had 
gathered  the  purple  berries  of  the  Indian  currants,  to  stew 
them  in  a  "dear  little  jar,"  so  small  a  one  that  his  affection 
was  evoked.  The  dark  juice  looked  rich  and  smelt  very  good, 
but  no  one  could  say  if  it  were  or  were  not  poisonous.  Each 
time,  after  a  longing  hesitation,  Kirk  emptied  the  wee  jar 
untasted. 

With  mother's  sanction  that  the  wont  was  not  cruel,  they 
kept  some  insects  in  glass  jars  which  they  half  filled  with 
earth  or  suitable  material  for  habitat.  There  was  one  little 
patch  of  soil,  warm  and  dry  beside  the  garden  wall,  where  no 
flowers  grew:  this  was  owing  to  a  green-house  furnace  in 
some  one's  garden  over  the  wall.  In  this  miniature  desert 
made  by  the  heated  brickwork,  the  black  ants  crowded  all 
day  in  and  out  of  their  holes;  but  Ted  had  caught  and  now 
kept  some  of  these  insects  in  a  jar  of  dry  soil.  Kirk  early  had 
named  the  ants  when  he  was  almost  a  baby  and  on  a  visit  to 
his  grandparents  at  far-away  Tarbock — near  the  wonderful 
ships  and  Eastham  oak  woods.  The  black  ants  were  "common 
daddy-pigs."  Then  there  were  "French  daddy-pigs" — dark 
slender  green  beetles  with  rusty  spots  on  them — and  lastly, 
"golden  daddy-pigs,"  which  were  the  bright  sun-beetles,  cap- 
tured on  brilliant  days  as  they  ran  at  speed  across  the  hot 
drive. 

Kirk  dearly  loved  a  mystery  and  a  little  solitude.  He  made 
"secret  chambers,"  and  loved  to  pique  the  others'  curiosity. 
Kneeling,  watching,  and  poring  over  the  ants  in  the  barren 
place  by  the  wall,  he  espied  one  day  a  tawny  glint  of  flame 
inside  a  deep  crevice  of  the  brickwork.  This  indeed  was  a 


THE   BORN   FOOL  19 

discovery.  He  ran  to  the  lilac  shrubbery,  took  out  a  fine 
straight  dead  stem  from  the  dense  sheaf  near  the  ground, 
raced  back  and  carefully  pushed  the  dry  stem  into  the  crack. 
He  held  the  twig  a  few  seconds,  then  drew  it  forth  only  half 
as  long,  the  end  glowing  red  and  smelling  sweet  of  burnt 
wood.  Having  found  Mary  and  Ted  doing  their  little  gar- 
dens, the  discoverer  danced  about,  crying  in  a  joyous  sing- 
song, "I've; — found — some — thing !" 

No !  no !  He  would  not  tell  them  more.  He  chose  a  place 
on  the  lawn  near  the  fiery  chink,  but  where  they  would  fail 
to  see  it,  and  made  them  kneel  and  close  their  eyes. 

"On  your  honour  ?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  they  both  eagerly  promised. 

He  went  to  the  crevice,  while  they  remained  faithfully  in 
position,  and  then  running  back  strategically  round  several 
islands  of  tall  flowers,  he  came  before  them  and  cried, 
"Look!"  He  waved  the  glowing  twig  in  bright  red  circles. 

"Oh!  I  shall  tell  mother  you  have  matches,  Kirk,"  ex- 
claimed Mary,  jumping  up  and  very  shocked. 

"No,  I've  not ;  no,  I've  not !"  laughed  Kirk. 

"On  your  honour?"  demanded  his  sister;  and  was  duly 
satisfied.  She  was  the  youngest,  but  already  held  herself 
somewhat  responsible  for  "the  boys." 

"Kneel  again!"  cried  Kirk. 

This  time  he  slipped  his  shoes  off,  came  up  stealthily  be- 
hind them,  and  mischievously  touched  Ted's  bare  leg  with 
the  hot  end;  then  he  dodged  and  dodged  and  dodged,  but 
tripped  himself,  and  Ted,  much  heavier,  sat  astride  him. 

"All  right,  I'll  show  you,"  bargained  Kirk  very  breathless, 
and  Mary — always  his  ally — was  pulling  at  Ted  and  threat- 
ening most  fiercely,  "I  shall  tell  mother  if  you  hurt  him, 
Ted !"  Released  on  bargain,  Kirk  jumped  up  and,  getting 
well  away,  shouted  casuistically,  "To-morrow!"  He  kept  the 
precious  secret  till  next  afternoon,  then  all  three  spent  an 
absorbed  hour,  boring  holes  with  a  red-hot  skewer  through 
corks  and  other  things.  This  was  a  useful  discovery,  and 


20  THE   BORN   FOOL 

saved  Kirk  much  kitchen-trouble,  for  he  was  so  often  urgently 
wanting  to  bore  holes  through  something  or  other. 

"Red  Admirals"  and  "Painted  Ladies"  floated  down  to 
settle  on  the  laurel  leaves,  but  oftenest  on  the  gravel  drive 
where  it  was  hot  and  dry.  The  first  time  Kirk  saw  one — 
opening  and  shutting  its  wings — he  held  his  breath,  as- 
tounded at  the  vivid  beauty  of  the  sudden  visitant.  He 
backed  carefully  away,  then  rushed  to  the  house,  and  burst 
in,  calling — 

"Mother !  mother !  come  and  look !  please  come  and  look ! 
Such  a  butterfly!" 

He  took  her  hand  persuasively.  "Quick!  quick!  mother; 
do  come  before  it  goes ;  do  come  now,  mother  dear!" 

Mary  came  too,  and  the  children  laughed  as  they  ran, 
looking  up. 

"Oh,  how  funny!     Mother's  running!" 

They  each  had  a  hand.  Their  mother  too  laughed  delight- 
fully. 

"Stop  now,  please,  mother,  or  it  will  be  frightened,"  said 
Kirk,  putting  his  hand  round  his  mother  to  pull  Mary's 
short  petticoat,  and  they  gently  approached.  There  it  was! 
and  gave  a  half -spin  as  they  looked. 

"What  kind  is  it,  mother  ?"  whispered  the  boy. 

"An  Admiral,  I  think.  No,  a  Painted  Lady.  What,  a 
splendid  beauty!" 

Kirk  took  off  his  straw  hat 

"No,  do  not  catch  it,  dear;  that  would  be  cruel.  It  loves 
to  be  free  and  dance  through  the  sunshine ;  it's  a  very  tender 
little  creature." 

"There  it  goes!"  cried  Mary.  Up!  up!  it  went,  and  sud- 
denly over  the  ivy  and  was  gone. 

The  boy  ran  in  and  brought  out  a  light  hat  for  his  mother, 
and  they  went  slowly  round  the  garden.  She  would  not  tell 
them  a  fairy  tale  just  then,  but  they  were  allowed  to  gather 


THE   BORN   FOOL  21 

some  long  bunches  of  white  desert  currants  and  one  green- 
gage apiece. 

Because  of  that  dear  garden:  certain  flowers — the  jessa- 
mine, red  hawthorn,  lilacs ;  faint-scented  and  crimson  peonies, 
blooming  on  the  fine  cared-for  grass  at  the  verges  of  lawns — 
these  ever  afterwards  awoke  and  received  tender  regard  from 
Kirk.  Their  scents  were  destined  to  awake  old  long-silent 
thoughts,  remote,  pure  and  sunny  memories,  exquisite  yearn- 
ings that  gave  rapture  and  pain. 


CHAPTER  III 

STUART  CLINTON'S  mother  was  proud  of  her  direct 
descent  from  the  dark  line  of  Douglas.  She  too  was 
dark-eyed,  black-haired,  passionate,  fiery,  fanatical,  very 
handsome,  and  typical  of  the  women  of  her  race.  But,  unlike 
her  ancestors,  she  had  not  been  a  Roman  Catholic.  She  mar- 
ried into  a  Midland  family  whose  members  had  tradition  of 
French  blood.  Kirk  was  a  favourite  with  his  grandmother, 
he  was  her  "wee  rat,"  but  she  died  suddenly  when  he  was  five 
years  old.  Her  husband  died  one  year  later. 

Generations  of  young  Mrs.  Clinton's  ancestors — the  Ath- 
orpes — were  buried  in  and  round  two  old  churches  near  Shap- 
wick.  Her  father,  long  dead,  had  been  a  great  sportsman :  a 
violent,  open,  over-generous  man.  He  had  the  blue  eyes, 
large  stature,  and  light  auburn  hair  that  go  so  often  with  that 
temperament.  During  his  later  years  he  had  lost  on  the 
race-course  most  of  his  fortune.  The  red  glint  in  Kirk's  dark 
curly  hair  came  from  this  maternal  grandfather.  His  wife, 
whom  he  had  loved  fixedly  and  passionately  from  her  girl- 
hood, remained  throughout  her  life  devoted  to  him,  often 
grieved  by  him,  always  forgiving  him.  She  outlived  her 
husband  by  many  years.  Their  second  child,  Agnes,  was 
Kirk's  mother.  It  was  now  twelve  years  since  the  Clintons 
and  the  Athorpes  had  first  made  acquaintance.  Old  Mr. 
Clinton  and  his  son  were  then  constructing  western  railways 
in  Somerset  and  Devon.  Young  Stuart — Kirk's  father  to  be 
— and  who  was  the  image  of  his  mother — fell  in  love  with  this 
slim,  gentle  and  clever  girl,  Miss  Athorpe.  He  had  all  too 
impetuously  and  confidently  proposed,  and  had  been  quietly 
but  sweetly  refused.  He  took  this  so  greatly  to  heart  that 

22 


THE    BORN    FOOL  23 

his  father  sent  him  to  Southern  France.  There  he  was  in 
charge  of  a  portion  of  the  new  railways. 

Young  Mr.  Clinton  had  remained  a  year  in  France  when 
he  distinguished  himself  by  a  brave  act.  Shortly  after  this 
he  heard  that  a  rival  made  headway  with  Agnes.  He  hast- 
ened home  and  took  up  the  old  position  with  his  father. 
Again  he  saw  a  good  deal  of  the  Athorpes.  At  their  house 
he  made  evasive  and  satiric  fun  about  his  deed  at  Isaac — and 
would  tell  nothing.  But  old  Mr.  Clinton,  before  Stuart  re- 
turned, had  given  Agnes  and  her  mother  a  full  account,  and 
had  sent  them  cuttings  from  the  French  and  London  papers. 

In  two  months  young  Clinton  felt  that  his  love  was  subtly 
returned.  He  proposed  again,  very  diffidently  this  time — 
and  was  accepted.  The  young  people  soon  afterwards  were 
married.  Clinton  was  then  twenty-nine,  and  his  wife  ten 
years  younger. 

Alice  Athorpe,  aunt  to  Agnes,  and  very  fond  of  her,  alone 
opposed  the  match  during  the  second  courtship  of  Stuart. 
But  she  went  to  the  wedding,  and  loyally  made  friends  with 
the  bridegroom. 

Old  Mr.  Clinton  personally  managed  the  London  office.  He 
was  ably  assisted  by  a  Mr.  King  who  when  young  had  been 
his  chief  draughtsman,  but  was  now  a  partner  on  terms  equal 
with  Stuart.  King  was  a  man  silent,  clever,  and  saturnine. 
In  business  he  was  thoroughly  efficient  and  reliable.  The 
advent  of  the  son  in  the  father's  profession  had  been  a  heavy 
secret  blow  to  King's  ambition ;  but  he  showed  his  feeling  to 
no  soul.  On  the  contrary,  he  treated  Stuart  with  marked 
civility  and  respect.  Stuart,  athletic  and  fastidious,  hated 
town  life  and  office  routine,  but  he  excelled  as  an  executive 
engineer.  In  design  and  in  the  overcoming  of  difficulties  in 
the  field  he  took  keen  pleasure. 

When  old  Mr.  Clinton  suddenly  died,  King  and  Stuart 
remained  as  partners,  and  things  went  on  very  much  as  be- 


24  THE    BORN    FOOL 

fore.  In  London  directories  "Clinton,  King  and  Clinton" 
was  unaltered. 

King  and  young  Clinton  had  remained  always  strictly  on  a 
business  footing.  Except  perfunctorily,  of  ordinary  courtesy, 
they  spoke  with  each  other  only  of  professional  matters,  and 
what  little  there  was  that  King  knew  of  Clinton's  private 
life  he  had  learnt  through  his  late  senior  partner,  or  through 
members  of  the  staff.  But  it  was  from  a  client  that  King 
first  heard  of  Clinton's  most  peculiar  religion.  In  this  King 
foresaw  disaster.  He  foresaw  danger  to  his  own  good  income ; 
but  he  said  nothing  to  Clinton.  Money,  and  a  certain  youth- 
ful married  lady,  were  his  sole  real  interests  in  life. 

At  this  time  the  firm  had  just  received  a  commission  to 
execute  a  very  large  work  in  the  Argentine.  It  had  been  ar- 
ranged that  Clinton  should  go  out  there  for  six  months,  and 
after  that  period  he  would  go  several  times  a  year.  King 
hoped  the  frequent  absence  from  England,  the  voyages,  the 
splendid  piece  of  work  entrusted  to  them,  would  cause  a 
change,  and  bring  Clinton  to  his  senses. 

The  work  was  to  be  done  not  by  contract,  but  by  administra- 
tion. The  engineers  would  buy  plant  and  material,  and  ship 
them  out.  King  was  ten  years  Clinton's  senior,  and  was  un- 
doubtedly very  experienced  in  this  mercantile  side  of  civil 
engineering.  King  would  order,  inspect,  buy  and  despatch ; 
Clinton  would  design,  organise,  and  build.  For  years  King 
had  inspected  and  bought  plants  for  South  American  Repub- 
lics, and  it  was  by  his  tact  and  acumen  that  this  very  impor- 
tant work  had  been  secured.  King  had  powers  of  attorney 
both  from  South  America  and  from  his  partner,  the  object 
being  to  give  him  a  free  and  quick  hand ;  for  the  time-limit 
made  a  strict  clause  in  the  agreement. 

Agnes  and  her  husband  had  come  to  Mead  Wells  after  five 
years  spent  mostly  in  a  Yorkshire  mining  district  and  its 
port.  The  great  quays  built  there  by  Clinton  had  first  brought 
him  forward  in  his  profession.  Their  eldest  boy,  Edward, 


THE    BORN   FOOL  25 

had  been  born  in  Yorkshire ;  and  there,  too,  Mr.  Clinton  first 
heard  the  doctrines  of  Irving,  that  young  Scots  minister  who 
preached  the  urgent  second  coming  of  Christ,  the  giving  to 
the  world  of  a  second  twelve  apostles — the  complement  of 
the  four  and  twenty  elders  of  Revelations.  The  extraordi- 
nary personality  of  Irving  affected  even  such  a  man  as  Car- 
lyle,  but  in  Stuart  Clinton  it  brought  to  birth  a  latent  and 
fanatical  religiousness.  The  new  sect  was  wealthy,  and 
very  soon  the  congregations  built  beautiful  churches,  and — 
incomparably  more  remarkable — a  liturgy  was  created  which 
did  not  lack  high  qualities  of  beauty  and  originality.  Cer- 
tainly it  was  a  fact  the  Primate  of  those  days  read  and  kept 
always  on  his  table  this  new  Liturgy.  This  same  archbishop 
once  spoke  as  follows:  "They  are  most  excellent  Christians, 
they  even  pay  one  tenth  of  their  income  to  any  church  in 
which  they  worship !  but  do  not  let  them  teach  in  the  Sunday 
schools;  they  are  very  much  too  clever." 

Stuart  was  "called"  as  a  lay-evengelist,  and,  although 
nominally  Sundays  alone  were  to  be  devoted  by  such  laymen 
to  Church  work,  Clinton  presently  began  to  let  his  absorbing 
interest  affect  his  career.  He  spoke  of  it  to  clients. 

Agnes  and  Stuart  loved  each  other  devoutly,  and  to  her 
his  change  of  religion  at  once  brought  great  unhappiness.  To 
her  it  seemed  like  a  disaster  come  upon  them.  It  was  their 
first  serious  disagreement.  She  prayed  daily  for  guidance 
in  this  great  trouble ;  for  it  seemed  insuperable  that  she  could 
leave  the  Church  of  her  fathers  and  embrace  these  new  extra- 
ordinary doctrines.  She  and  her  husband  now  had  many 
painful  arguments — the  husband  earnest,  enthusiastic,  chaf- 
ing, forceful,  lit-up ;  the  young  wife  troubled,  perplexed,  loth 
to  be  persuaded,  acutely  pained  to  differ  even  in  thought  from 
her  husband,  yet  believing  far  deeper  than  do  people  to-day 
in  the  power  of  the  ancient  command,  "Wives,  obey  your 
husbands."  There  is  no  shadow  of  doubt  the  new  "Apostolic 
Church"  possessed  a  high  percentage  of  men  of  good  intellect, 
men  of  reasoned  conviction,  men  who  were  leading  unselfish, 


26  THE    BOKN    FOOL 

useful  lives;  and  Mrs.  Clinton  frequently  met  these  men. 
They  were  all  much  older  than  she.  Some  were  members  of 
learned  societies,  some  were  well-established  men  of  business 
or  profession,  some  were  men  of  leisure,  and  one  was  a 
banker.  She  observed  them  closely,  and  conversed  much  with 
them.  She  found  that  they  were  very  much  more  well-read, 
logical,  calm,  intellectual,  spiritually-minded,  than  was  her 
fiery  husband.  He  was,  though  only  thirty-six,  already  be- 
coming eminent  as  a  civil  engineer.  He  was  indeed  very 
handsome:  he  was  provedly  a  brave  man:  he  was  her  hus- 
band and  dear  lover;  but  he  could  never  be  her  priest,  her 
spiritual  guide.  She  did  not  consciously  think  all  this;  but 
she  deeply  felt  it. 

It  was  contact  with  these  elder  men  that  most  changed  her 
feeling  and  her  faith.  Then,  during  one  of  her  frequent 
visits  to  London  she  went  to  the  new  cathedral  church  in 
Gordon  Square.  After  this  she  went  there  many  times,  and 
one  day  came  away  filled,  it  seemed,  with  a  new  spiritual 
insight — an  exaltation.  She  believed  at  last,  with  full  con- 
viction, in  this  new,  glorious,  and  wonderful  revelation :  that 
Christ  in  Person  was  about  to  revisit  the  earth.  It  came  upon 
her  that  she  lived  in  a  most  solemn  time;  that  these  were 
actually  "The  Last  Days"  of  the  world's  ordinary  life. 

It  was  sweet  and  marvellous  now,  that  this  divine  knowl- 
edge had  come  to  her  through  Stuart. 

During  this  trying  period — while  Agnes  was  troubled  in 
spirit,  parting  from  the  faith  she  had  been  born  in,  weighing, 
accepting,  absorbing  new  ideas,  while  filled  alternately  by 
misgivings  and  new  hopes  and  fervours — during  this  time 
the  baby-body  of  Kirk  was  conceived,  and  he  was  born  to  her. 

He  had  been  rather  a  fretful  child  and  not  ordinary — 
often  crying  when  no  cause  could  be  found — at  other  times 
angelically  good  when  suffering  from  real  ailment,  such  as 
painful  teething.  Before  the  end  of  his  third  year  he  showed 
unusual  strength  of  affection  towards  his  mother.  Like  a 


THE    BOKK   FOOL  27 

dog,  he  would  be  content  and  quite  silent  for  hours  if  near 
her ;  and  if  while  at  work  she  looked  at  the  child,  he  felt  it, 
and  she  caught  his  clear,  dark-blue  eyes  fixed  gravely  upon 
her  own,  with  an  expression  that  had  on  one  occasion  brought 
sudden  tears  to  her  eyes,  and  she  wondered  and  wondered 
over  her  second-born. 

When  Kirk  was  five  years  old  he  began  to  develop  quite 
new  traits,  though  his  devotion  to  his  mother  never  ceased. 
He  was  precociously  intelligent  in  certain  ways.  While  she 
was  absent  several  weeks,  he  suddenly  assumed  command  of 
Ted,  and  on  a  day  in  June  the  two  small  boys  made  recon- 
naissance round  the  long  paddock  that  sloped  away  behind  the 
Yorkshire  house.  On  one  hedge  their  neighbour's  maids  had 
spread  a  quantity  of  snowy  new-washed  linen,  which  act 
greatly  offended  Kirk,  who  said,  "They  hang  down  too  far 
on  our  side,  Ted.  It's  not  fair."  Mud  was  made  at  once,  Ted 
carried  the  bucket,  and  Kirk  dipped  a  stick  into  the  mess, 
and  then  much  mud  was  flung  on  all  the  unfortunate  washing 
that  hung  below  an  exact  level  marked  by  Kirk.  For  this 
Ted  and  Kirk  received  a  well-deserved  caning  from  their 
father.  But  within  a  week  the  two  bare-legged  ones  walked 
up  and  down  the  opposite  hedge.  Ted  followed  Kirk  and 
carried  a  small  round  hamper.  Kirk  himself  bore  the  kitchen 
chopper,  and  shortly  proceeded  to  enlarge  a  small  hole  in  the 
hedge-bottom.  He  wormed  himself  through  this  and  Ted 
pushed  the  basket  after  him.  Kirk  then  rapidly  filled  it  with 
uprooted  carrots,  squeezed  and  pushed  it  back,  and  the  two 
carried  the  spoils  triumphantly  into  the  kitchen.  For  this 
they  received  another  caning,  and  later  in  the  day  were  sent 
to  the  next  house  to  say  they  were  sorry,  ask  pardon,  return 
the  carrots,  and  explain  themselves.  They  went  in  great 
trepidity,  carrying  the  well-washed  vegetables — their  father 
insisted  upon  this  expiation — but  they  came  back  full  of  cake, 
tea,  and  plenary  absolution,  bestowed  by  their  childless  neigh- 
bours. 

A  few  days  before  their  mother's  return,  the  brilliant 


28  THE    BOKN    FOOL 

notion  of  a  pond,  of  making  a  real  pond,  flashed  into  Kirk's 
mind.  Tremendous  determination  filled  him.  He  infected 
Ted  with  a  similar  excitement.  Breakfast  over,  they  rushed 
off  to  the  far  limits  of  the  paddock,  and  in  a  quiet  soft  corner 
commenced  operations.  Kirk,  his  mind  full  of  the  completed 
picture  of  a  pond,  with  fish  in  the  water  and  things  sailing 
on  the  top,  worked  furiously,  animating  Ted  to  equal  energy. 
They  toiled  with  seaside  spades,  and  with  a  small  pointed 
iron  bar  that  Kirk  hammered  in  with  a  hard  stone.  They 
found  the  earth  grew  damper  as  they  dug  deeper.  They 
might  even  find  water !  The  morning  passed  quickly,  and  at 
last  the  maid  called  to  them,  for  it  was  their  dinner-time. 
Carefully  and  slyly  they  cleaned  their  boots  and  clothes  in  the 
back  kitchen,  then  hastily  devoured  the  meal,  and  forthwith 
went  back  to  work  with  a  will.  By  four  o'clock  the  hole  hid 
them  to  their  waists — they  had  dug  out  a  ton  of  soil  and  clay 
— and  Kirk  decided  that  the  important  time  to  fill  the  pond 
had  now  arrived. 

By  lying  on  one's  face  under  the  hedge  the  deep  round 
marble  fountain  of  the  next  garden  was  accessible  and  Kirk 
drew  up  water  as  fast  as  he  could  with  their  two  seaside 
buckets,  while  Ted  ran  back  and  forth  to  fill  the  pond.  What 
perturbation  was  there!  when  all  the  first  buckets  of  water 
sank  quite  away!  Then  Kirk  took  shoes  and  socks  off  and 
selected  clay,  and  with  his  feet  he  trod  and  puddled  the 
wetted  bottom  smooth.  What  joy!  when  they  had  twelve 
inches  of  densely  muddy  water  in  the  hole !  Then  they  saw 
their  father  coming.  The  two  boys  were  standing  in  the 
pond,  delighted. 

"Father!  we've  dug  a  pond!"  cried  Kirk,  sunburnt,  en- 
thused, highly  muddy  and  filthy. 

"Oh !  you  have !  have  you  ?"  He  seized  the  child's  ear  and 
almost  lifted  him  out,  then  roughly  twisted  the  ear.  The  as- 
tonished little  boy  cried  out,  in  a  bent  position,  struggling, 
trying  to  hold  his  father's  hand  from  hurting  so  extremely. 
Then  he  dug  his  nails  into  the  hand  with  all  his  might 


THE    BOKN    FOOL  29 

Mr.  Clinton  instantly  quite  lost  his  temper.  He  took  Kirk 
by  the  shoulder  and  propelled  him  to  the  house.  There  he 
severely  caned  him  on  the  hands.  The  boy  did  not  cry  out, 
but  looked  away,  stoically,  darkly. 

"I  hope  you  are  sorry  and  repent?"  said  Mr.  Clinton. 
The  boy  did  not  speak.  "This  is  the  way  you  behave  when 
your  mother  is  away.  First  deliberate  nastiness,  throwing 
mud  on  clean  clothes,  then  stealing,  and  now  disobedience  and 
temper!" 

Mr.  Clinton  instructed  Elizabeth  to  give  Kirk  dry  bread 
and  water  for  tea  and  supper. 

In  future  Kirk  avoided  his  father,  but  his  troubles  were 
not  over.  A  few  weeks  later  he  was  so  unfortunate  as  to  find 
a  box  of  matches  while  walking  out  with  the  maid.  He  had 
never  taken  matches  at  home,  but  these,  he  opined,  belonged 
to  himself.  He  secreted  them,  and,  on  arriving  home,  finding 
no  one  in  the  dining-room  he  knelt  down  on  the  hearthrug  and 
tried  to  strike  one.  The  matches  were  damp,  so  he  held  sev- 
eral to  the  fire  until  they  dried.  He  then  struck  one,  and  a 
little  pleasing  puff  of  blue  smoke  flew  up.  He  had  struck 
several  more,  and  thrown  the  burnt  matches  into  the  fender 
when  his  father  opened  the  door.  Kirk  looked  up  full  of  guilt 
and  fear.  He  knew  matches  were  forbidden. 

"Boy !  How  dare  you  play  with  fire !"  said  Mr.  Clinton, 
exceedingly  angry.  "You  need  a  severe  lesson." 

He  seized  the  boy's  hand  and  forcibly  held  the  fingers  on 
the  hot  bar  of  the  grate ;  he  had  no  idea  it  was  so  hot,  but  two 
shrieks  pierced  the  house.  His  frightened  mother  rushed  into 
the  room. 

"Oh  Stuart !  How  could  you  do  such  a  thing  to  a  child ! 
How  could  you  ?" 

Silently  she  took  Kirk  away,  and  dressed  the  burnt  and 
blistered  fingers.  The  hand  was  wrapped  up  a  fortnight,  for 
two  fingers  had  stuck  to  the  iron.  It  was  a  grievous  severity, 
and  caused  the  first  words  of  anger  between  this  husband  acd 


30  THE   BORN    FOOL 

wife.  It  had  become  quite  plain  to  Mrs.  Clinton  that  her 
husband  did  not  in  the  least  comprehend  children — the  ten- 
derness of  their  small  bodies,  the  complexities  of  their  little 
untrained  minds:  and  from  this  day  the  secret  fixity  of  na- 
ture and  memory  in  the  child  prevented  him  regarding  his 
father  except  as  an  enemy,  as  one  to  be  feared,  to  be  dealt 
with  very  cautiously — one  to  evade  and  deceive. 

It  was  about  a  year  after  this  incident  when  the  house  at 
Mead  Wells  was  selected.  Mead  Wells  had  been  chosen  for 
several  good  reasons — the  high  rolling  country  of  the  Cots- 
wolds  rose  up  eastwards  and  northwards  of  the  town,  im- 
pregnably  shutting  out  the  coldest  winds.  But  the  south  and 
south-west  air  came  up  direct,  untrammelled.  The  mild  cli- 
mate and  pure  air  would  recoup  Mrs.  Clinton's  delicate 
health.  The  new-built  Apostolic  Church  was  a  very  strong  at- 
traction. And  then,  too,  Agnes  Clinton  had  been  at  school 
there  when  a  girl. 

She  soon  made  many  friends  in  Mead  Wells.  Except  in 
her  religion  she  lived  a  normal  orthodox  life.  She  became 
known  as  a  quiet,  sympathetic,  and  very  practical  and  effec- 
tive helper,  and  was  drawn  quickly  into  that  unnamed  guild 
of  good  women  who  are  to  be  found  in  most  English  towns 
and  cities,  working  among  the  sick  and  needy  in  their  illness 
and  confinements  and  poverty;  obtaining  safe  employments 
for  young  girls,  disbursing  hospital  tickets,  finding  wars  and 
means  of  sending  poor  convalescents  to  the  seaside,  and  the 
like. 

Socially,  too,  Agnes  was  successful.  Her  face  had  the 
rare  transparent  clearness  of  a  pink  sea-shell,  and  though  not 
perfect  and  regular  of  feature,  it  was  beautiful.  When  she 
entered  a  room,  strangers  again  and  again  looked  at  her.  The 
rather  long  face  was  so  noble,  so  pure  and  calm,  so  genuinely 
modest,  intelligent,  and  sincere;  and  her  clear  grey  eyes  were 
so  filled  with  outgoing  kindness  and  spirituality.  Her  dark 
brown  hair  flowed  softly  in  ripples  over  the  full  temples  and 
framed  the  high  forehead  girlishly  and  richly.  The  mouth 


THE    BORN   FOOL  31 

was  firm,  yet  very  loveable,  a  smile  always  lurked  there ;  the 
chin  was  strong,  but  not  masculine.  This  gravity  of  expres- 
sion in  repose,  this  combination  of  strength,  gentleness,  wis- 
dom, striking  sweetness  and  spirituality,  was  the  more  re- 
markable in  a  woman  of  but  twenty-five. 

"I  think  I  have  never  before  seen  so  good  a  face."  "Tell 
me!  who  is  that  youngish  lady  over  there  with  the  extraor- 
dinarily beautiful  face  ?"  "Who  is  the  Sistine  Madonna  ?" 
had  been  asked  by  various  strangers  when  first  they  saw  her. 

When  Stuart  Clinton  came  home  after  his  first  six 
months  in  the  Argentine,  his  wife  gave  a  few  dinners,  and  in 
the  summer  afternoons  the  old  garden  was  often  gay  with 
ladies  in  light  dresses.  Mrs.  Clinton's  small  garden  parties 
were  much  liked,  for  she  knew  how  to  make  each  guest  com- 
fortable, even  happy,  and  it  was  then  a  delight  of  Clinton's 
— newly  home — to  watch  his  wife's  graceful  form  moving 
through  the  old  English  garden.  His  too  frequent  dogmatism 
or  evangelical  intrusions  were  regarded  with  secret  amuse- 
ment and  amazement,  especially  by  those  who  knew  him  as 
a  man  of  business  and  a  very  clever  engineer ;  but  every  one 
listened  politely  for  the  sake  of  the  attractive  wife,  •  who  led 
him  in  all  things  social.  His  heroic  deed  at  Isaac  had  been 
told  by  friends,  and  people  regarded  somewhat  similarly  his 
fearless  open  championship  of  theories  that,  to  them,  seemed 
near  madness. 

Among  the  trees,  lower  down  the  Clintons'  road,  lived  a 
widowed  lady,  Mrs.  Benson,  with  her  two  children  Harry  and 
May;  but  the  family  included  a  little  girl  called  Daisy,  who 
was  an  adopted  niece;  and,  also,  the  old  governess,  named 
oddly  enough  Miss  Watchwell.  Mrs.  Clinton  and  Mrs.  Benson 
were  very  friendly,  and  were  both  members  of  the  same 
church.  One  day,  after  a  consultation  of  the  two  mothers  and 
the  old  dame,  it  was  agreed  the  six  children  should  be  taught 
together  in  the  ample  schoolroom  at  "Dadnor."  Miss  Watch- 
well  had  been  a  friend  of  Mrs.  Benson's  mother,  and  had 


32       ^  THE   BORN   FOOL 

known  the  daughter  from  girlhood.  Mrs.  Benson  had  married 
the  captain  of  a  Cunarder,  and  her  life  being  somewhat 
lonely,  she  had  long  since  asked  her  old  friend  to  live  with 
her.  Miss  Watchwell  had  now  been  at  "Dadnor"  for  twelve 
years. 

She  was  quite  agreeable  to  the  new  arrangement,  for  it 
would  augment  her  small  income  and  she  already  knew  the 
Clinton  children.  She  was  a  dear,  sprightly  old  lady,  very 
quick  and  clever,  and  a  nuisance  to  no  one,  for  she  was  un- 
selfish, intelligent,  and  shrewd.  At  Dadnor  she  had  long  been 
general  manager.  On  Sundays  she  went  to  Church  of  Eng- 
land. Mrs.  Benson  was  a  kindly  woman,  but  of  very  weak 
health  and  mentally  somewhat  out  of  touch  with  children. 
Miss  Watchwell,  on  the  other  hand,  thoroughly  understood 
them.  They  obeyed  her,  desired  her  approbation,  and  she 
maintained  excellent  discipline  without  resort  to  emphatic 
words  or  physical  means.  In  appearance  she  was  extremely 
thin  and  tall ;  her  dear  old  face  was  quite  covered  with  wrin- 
kles, and  she  was  very  dignified,  neat,  up-to-date,  alert,  spot- 
less and  well-bred. 

The  six  youngsters  chummed  together  very  well,  though 
Kirk  and  Daisy  were  not  absolutely  at  one  when  going  walks. 
Ted  paired  off  with  ever-smiling  May.  It  was  soon  under- 
stood quite  perfectly  among  the  children  that  she  was  Ted's 
sweetheart,  that  Mary  belonged  to  golden-haired  and  giddy 
Harry,  and  Kirk's  province  was  to  escort  Daisy — two  years 
his  elder,  and  a  very  pretty,  exacting,  and  tall  little  m'selle. 
But  in  Kirk's  secret  opinion  she  was  not  nearly  so  pretty  and 
nice  as  May  or  Mary,  and  he  complained  to  his  sister — "She 
won't  do  things."  But  he  did  his  best,  he  was  very  polite  to 
her,  took  her  arm  when  she  allowed  it,  was  very  desirous  of 
being  her  protector,  and  always  marched  by  her  loyally  on 
Saturdays,  when  they  went  a  long  walk  into  the  Cotswolds. 

Kirk  remained  behind  the  others  on  one  Monday  afternoon 
and  asked  Miss  Watchwell  what  flowers  she  liked  best. 

"Flowers,  Kirk?    I  like  them  nearly  all,  dear." 


THE    BOKN    FOOL  33 

"Ah,  but,  Miss  Watchwell,  what  are  your  very  favourite 
ones  ?"  asked  he  most  persuasively,  and  with  his  eyes  on  hers 
he  continued — "I  like  musk  awfully,  and  petunias,  and  best, 
I  like  white  violets,  they're  lovely!  Don't  you  like  those 
best  ?" 

"It's  hard  to  say,  dear ;  I  like  flowers  so  much." 

"Oh  yes !  I  know !  I  know !"  cried  Kirk,  unsatisfied,  and 
he  took  her  hand  with  both  his,  and  pulled  her  down  affection- 
ately, and  she  laughed  at  him. 

"But  which  do  you  like  the  very,  very  best  ?" 

"I  think  then  .    .    .  white  violets !" 

The  boy,  delighted,  full  of  his  secret  intention,  looked  at 
her  a  moment,  then  said  good-bye  and  raced  off. 

Next  morning  he  presented  her  with  a  little  pot  of  white 
violets.  She  would  have  kissed  him,  but  she  was  very  wise. 
Like  Kirk's  mother,  she  knew  the  loss  of  brotherhood  and 
sisterhood  that  came  from  any  faintest  inequality  in  the  treat- 
ment of  children.  Ted  twitted  Kirk  as  little  boys  do,  but  next 
morning  he  and  Mary  each  brought  Miss  Watchwell  a  bunch 
of  garden  flowers.  After  this,  these  gifts  of  flowers  were 
brought  several  times  a  week,  but  Ted  and  Mary  at  last  forgot 
them,  the  novelty  wore  off,  and  they  ceased  to  bring  them. 
But  Kirk  made  it  a  habit ;  he  grew  flowers  specially  for  the 
old  lady,  and  brought  them  every  Monday.  Soon  after  the 
pot  of  violets  had  been  given,  Daisy  began  to  treat  Kirk  with 
great  indifference.  An  obscure  instinct  moved  the  boy;  he 
brought  her  a  fine  pot  of  musk.  On  that  morning  the  boy  and 
girl  were  by  themselves  in  the  schoolroom  before  lessons 
began. 

"For  you,  Daisy!"  said  Kirk,  shyly  but  warmly,  and  smil- 
ing at  her. 

"Thank  you,  Kirk."  She  put  it  on  the  window-sill  and 
returned,  calmly  saying — 

"I  don't  think  I  like  musk  very  much ;  it  smells  so  like  our 
church,  and  I  hate  church." 


34  THE   BOKN    FOOL 

"Oh !  .  .  .  all  right  .  .  .  then  see  what  I  do ;  you  look  out 
of  the  window,"  said  Kirk,  quietly,  but  much  hurt. 

He  picked  the  pot  up,  ran  outside  the  house  and  offered  it 
to  a  man  passing  in  the  road.  The  man  looked  puzzled,  he 
hesitated,  took  it  in  his  hands,  looked  again  at  Kirk,  grinned, 
thanked  him,  and  went  on,  bearing  away  the  pot  of  musk. 
Kirk  re-entered  the  house  well  in  front  of  Ted  and  Mary,  who, 
observing  distantly,  were  quite  mystified.  Kirk  ran  -upstairs 
and  found  Daisy  crying.  Quite  astonished,  he  was  instantly 
very  much  distressed.  He  tried  gently  to  take  the  little  girl's 
hands  from  her  face  and  kiss  her.  Then  he  put  his  arms 
round  her,  saying,  "Oh,  don't  cry;  don't  cry,  dear — I'm 
dreadfully  sorry;  I'll  get  you  a — a — simply  splendid  pot! 
I  didn't  know  you  were  only  funning."  But  she  repulsed 
him,  and  dried  her  eyes  before  Miss  Watchwell  came  in. 

This  was  not  the  very  first  disturbance  of  its  kind  known 
to  Kirk's  childish  soul.  When  the  family  arrived  at  Mead 
Wells  he  had  gone  with  the  nurse  and  his  brother  and  sister 
to  the  river-margined  public  gardens.  After  the  dark  mining 
district,  he  was  quite  carried  away  by  this  fairy-like  place  of 
leafy  distance,  lawns  and  lakes,  sparkling  fountains,  vivid 
flowers.  Here  he  had  first  met  the  fair  child  lying  upon  her 
back  in  the  long  wheeled  chair,  drawn  slowly  through  the 
shade  of  great  trees.  An  intense  interest  and  pity  filled  him, 
but  he  smiled  brightly  at  her  and  she  smiled  back — he  looked 
only  at  her  sweet,  patient  face,  at  her  eyes — he  concealed 
his  boy-like  interest  in  her  paralysis.  Somehow  he  knew  it 
would  hurt  her  very  much  to  look  curiously.  They  met  sever- 
al times  after  this  and  always  smiled  at  each  other,  and  on 
one  occasion  Kirk,  inwardly  disturbed,  slipped  off  from  the 
others  to  a  place  where,  kneeling  under  a  big  tree,  he  could 
look  down  into  the  dark  gliding  river,  so  unfathomed.  He 
watched  the  fallen  petals  of  red  chestnut  flowers  gently  mov- 
ing on  like  little  fairy  boats,  he  watched  the  drifting  strug- 
gling insects  in  the  bright  reflections  going  on  their  irrevo- 


THE    BORN   FOOL  35 

cable  way,  and  as  he  looked,  thinking  of  the  fair  child's  face, 
a  nameless  melancholy  ecstasy  overcame  him. 

Kirk  could  not  understand  why  Daisy  would  not  be  "nice 
with  me  like  May  and  Mary."  She  would  seldom  walk  with 
him,  and  they  settled  differences  at  last  by  dividing  between 
them  Miss  Watchwell.  Her  right  arm  belonged  to  Daisy,  her 
left  to  Kirk. 

Under  the  refined  old  lady  the  Clinton  children  made 
good  progress  in  the  beginnings  of  Latin,  French,  arithmetic, 
history,  geography  and  singing;  and  these  were  very  happy 
times.  One  sunny  day  Mary  exclaimed,  "There's  father!" 
Miss  Watchwell  glanced  out,  and  cried  quickly,  "Look !  chil- 
dren !  all  of  you !" 

They  had  just  time  to  see  him,  remove  from  the  footpath 
a  bright  piece  of  orange  peel.  With  his  stick  he  made  it  fall  in 
the  stone  channel.  They  saw  Mr.  Clinton  walk  on,  very  mili- 
tary, very  upright,  and  square-shouldered. 

"See  how  careful  and  thoughtful  your  father  is;  what  a 
good  example  he  sets  us !"  said  Miss  Watchwell. 


CHAPTER  IV 

ON  a  summer  forenoon  the  liner  bringing  Clinton  home 
made  her  majestic  way  deliberately  up  the  Mersey,  and 
then,  her  engines  scarcely  moving,  the  heavy  cables  roared 
through  the  hawse-holes  till  the  anchors  took  the  sand.  An 
hour  later  Clinton  was  sitting  in  the  South  Wales  express. 
He  was  returning  from  his  second  voyage.  He  changed 
trains  at  Hereford,  passed  during  late  afternoon  far  south  of 
the  Malverns — stopping  at  every  country  station — and  by 
seven  o'clock  he  was  leaning  forward  in  the  open  carriage  as 
he  entered  the  old  garden  at  Mead  Wells.  In  the  still  and 
warm  close  of  the  day,  the  evening  primrose,  the  stocks,  the 
gillies,  the  mignonette,  the  roses — a  hundred  flowers — scented 
the  air.  Unconsciously  he  raised  his  head,  stood  up,  and 
deeply  breathed,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  form  of  his  wife;  for 
he  could  discern  her  standing  outside  the  porch,  a  white  figure 
against  the  dark  jessamine:  the  children  and  the  servants 
were  also  there.  Half  a  minute  later  he  sprang  out,  took  her 
sweet  face  in  his  hands  and  kissed  her. 

Next  morning,  after  breakfast,  Clinton  quickly  sorted  his 
many  letters,  then  tore  them  open  hastily  one  by  one,  glanced 
through  each  and  put  it  on  the  proper  file.  He  picked  up  a 
letter  that  bore  a  Portuguese  stamp  and  postmark.  Aston- 
ished, he  looked  close  at  this ;  he  turned  the  letter  over,  looked 
again,  and  sat  still  a  moment.  The  writing  was  King's.  Then 
saying  to  himself,  "King!  at  Lisbon?"  he  broke  the  seal  and 
read — 

"Grand  Hotel  Estremadura, 

"Lisboa, 
"DEAR  CLINTON, 

"Without  consulting  you,  I  have,  as  it  were,  wound  up  our  es- 
tate, and  made  a  fair  division  of  the  proceeds.  To  you,  young  and 

36 


THE   BOKN   FOOL  37 

energetic  for  your  years,  falls  the  growing  practice,  the  London 
office,  the  name,  goodwill  and  fixtures  of  'Clinton,  King  and  Clinton.' 
You  will  no  longer  be  annoyed  by  my  inferior  incompetent  design. 
You  will  have  a  free  hand.  For  these  great  advantages  you  pay  some 
forty  thousand  pounds  of  what  we  will  call  capital.  Although  per- 
haps not  quite  in  order,  it  was  needful  for  me  to  draw  my  share  of 
our  settlement  from  funds  ready  to  hand,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that 
a  man  of  your-  marked  integrity  and  religious  life  will  see  to  it 
that  these  funds  be  replenished  in  time  to  save  any  coarse  misunder- 
standings that  might  injure  the  good  name  of  'Clinton,  King  and 
Clinton.'  You  have  my  free  leave  to  keep  the  name  as  it  is.  We 
shall  be  spending  some  time  here;  indeed,  we  may  settle  here  for 
life.  I  like  the  place,  the  climate,  the  unstrenuous  virtue  of  the 
people;  and  should  you  call  here  on  your  busy  voyaging,  we  would 
do  our  best  to  make  you  comfortable,  although  there  is  no  church 
here  that  would,  I  think,  meet  your  somewhat  exceptional  require- 
ments. 

"Yours  sincerely, 

"EWART  KING." 

King  had  left  England  several  days  before  Clinton  was 
due  back.  He  had  written  his  letter  and  despatched  it  on  the 
day  he  reached  Lisbon.  He  had  some  feelings  of  compunc- 
tion. He  did  not  wish  to  ruin  his  partner.  But  Clinton 
sailed  from  Buenos  Ayres  later  than  was  arranged. 

It  was  now  nearly  three  weeks  since  King  disappeared 
from  London  with  a  young  married  woman.  It  was  the 
elderly  husband  of  this  girl,  who,  anxious  and  distraught,  had 
set  Scotland  Yard  to  work.  On  the  same  evening  that  Clinton 
reached  home  all  had  been  found  out.  Even  now,  as  he  sat 
there  motionless,  hit  heavily,  but  thinking  hard,  a  telegram 
from  the  chief  assistant  engineer  was  being  brought  up  the 
drive. 

Clinton  pulled  himself  together,  told  his  wife  nothing,  and 
went  up  to  town. 

Two  days  later  he  returned  to  Mead  Wells.  He  entered 
the  house,  but  did  not  greet  his  wife.  She  followed  him  into 
his  study.  He  sat  down  as  if  greatly  weary.  He  put  his 


38  THE    BORN   FOOL 

arms  on  the  table.  His  eyes  gazed  vacantly  at  the  polished 
wood.  He  seemed  unaware  of  her  presence.  Fear  seized 
her. 

"Are  you  ill,  dear?    What  is  it?" 

"I — I — I — Agnes,  my  poor  darling  .  .  .  I've  lost  every- 
thing .  .  .  our  money,  almost  all  ...  I've  been  a  fool.  That 
scoundrel  King  has  gone  off  with  forty  thousand.  Read  that." 

For  any  ordinary  man  things  were  not  quite  as"  bad  as 
Clinton  thought.  Yet  it  was  indeed  a  disaster.  He  had  just 
repaid  the  money.  For  himself  remained  only  some  two 
thousand  pounds.  The  practice  had  received  a  very  heavy 
blow ;  the  dead  loss  in  money  was  not  so  serious  as  the  injury 
to  a  good  name.  But  the  worst  effect  was  the  blow  to  Clin- 
ton's pride.  Hypersensitive  and  quixotic  where  his  honour 
was  concerned,  vain  to  extreme  of  his  name  as  a  shrewd  man, 
he  now  imagined  himself  branded  as  a  fool.  Wrongheadedly 
he  had  misread  all  the  sympathy  he  had  just  received  in 
Victoria  Street,  and  he  felt  he  could  go  there  again,  never. 

Clinton  could  not  brook  a  smaller  house  at  Mead  Wells, 
and,  moreover,  it  became  plain  in  a  few  weeks  that  he  must 
leave  that  town.  The  Argentine  authorities  sent  him  a  gen- 
erous cheque  for  his  services  to  date,  but  they  regretted  they 
must  take  the  work  from  his  hands  and  place  it  with  "a  firm 
of  large  substance,"  unless  he  cared  to  enter  into  a  special 
guaranty  bond  for  a  sum  of  not  less  than  fifty  thousand 
pounds,  and  at  once  deposit  the  said  sum  with  approved 
bankers. 

Clinton  could  not  meet  such  conditions,  and  it  sharply 
embittered  him  to  seo  the  work  pass  to  well-known  rivals. 

His  wife  urged  him  to  live  near  London,  personally  manage 
the  London  office,  and  rehabilitate  the  practice.  Unfortu- 
nately he  did  not  follow  this  advice.  Instead,  the  family  a 
few  months  later  moved  to  Severnly,  in  Worcestershire.  The 
railway  from  Severnly,  giving  easy  access  to  the  midland 
metropolis,  had  not  had  much  effect  on  the  small  ancient  city. 


THE    BORN    FOOL  39 

Houses  were  old  and  large,  rents  were  still  low,  at  Severnly. 
Clinton  hoped  to  build  up  in  a  few  years  a  good  provincial 
practice,  and  for  this  purpose  an  office  at  Birmingham  would, 
he  thought,  be  central  and  very  suitable.  After  careful  search 
he  secured  a  small  suite  of  rooms  in  a  large  modern  building 
in  Colmore  Row.  The  index  in  the  hall  and  the  brass  plate  on 
his  own  entrance  bore  the  inscription:  "Stuart  Clinton,  M. 
Inst.  C.  E.,  Civil  and  Mining  Engineer." 

The  staff  for  the  present  comprised  one  senior  and  one 
junior  assistant  engineer,  and  one  draughtsman-typist.  They 
were  the  only  men  he  had  retained  from  his  old  staff.  The 
first  work  at  the  new  office  was  to  finish  all  commissions  that 
were  in  hand  before  King  left  London. 

Clinton  went  to  Birmingham  four  or  five  times  a  week.  The 
fast  trains  did  the  journey  in  a  little  over  half-an-hour. 
Severnly  was  a  much  warmer  place  than  Birmingham,  for  the 
country  round  was  very  fertile,  of  lower  altitude,  and  the 
pure  winds  came  to  Severnly  over  miles  of  hops  and  corn, 
through  orchards  innumerable  and  through  countless  noble 
trees.  The  clear  river  Temlys,  secluded  home  of  many  a  trout 
and  grayling,  flowed  not  far  away. 

Some  good  reasons,  beside  that  of  fair  proximity  to  the 
Midland  centre,  influenced  the  Clintons  in  their  choice  of 
Severnly. 

The  place  was  an  old  seat  of  learning,  and  the  schools  for 
boys  and  girls  were  well  known.  At  Salbury,  six  miles  from 
Severnly  and  upon  the  main  line,  was  a  small  Apostolic 
Church  which  the  Clintons  could  attend. 

The  children  with  ease  adapted  themselves  to  new  condi- 
tions, indeed  they  enjoyed  the  novelty,  but  their  parents  felt 
as  though  uprooted,  and  Agnes  for  three  months  had  been 
enceinte. 

Clinton  had  always  held  strange  objections  $o  public 
schools,  but  his  wife  prevailed  over  him.  When  at  Mead 
Wells,  the  boys  were  entered  for  Loretto — Stuart's  old  school 
— but  now,  unless  he  did  very  well,  it  would  not  be  possible  to 


40  THE    BOKN   FOOL 

send  his  own  boys  there ;  and  Severnly  School  would  then  be 
a  good  and  economical  alternative.  In  the  meantime  all 
three  children  were  sent  to  a  local  dame's  school.  Next  year 
the  boys  would  go  either  to  Loretto  or  Severnly. 


CHAPTER  V 

SOON  after  the  arrival  at  the  new  home,  Kirk  began  to 
take  solitary  walks  of  great  distance  for  his  age.  He 
revelled  in  boyish  explorations  of  an  historic  and  beautiful 
countryside.  He  brought  back,  one  day,  some  extraordinary 
little  stones  he  had  found  in  a  roadside  heap  of  gravel.  His 
mother  told  him  they  were  fossils,  the  remains  of  antedilu- 
vian animals,  turned  to  stone  during  great  ages.  For  some 
time  this  satisfied  the  deep  curiosity  of  Kirk;  but  a  thirst 
insatiable,  to  explore,  to  observe,  to  know,  silently  grew  in 
him.  He  was  endowed  with  that  somewhat  rare  handicap 
and  gift — mental  fearlessness.  All  persons,  as  well  as  things, 
received  his  close,  unobtrusive  scrutiny.  Especially  he  ob- 
served his  father,  and  in  silence  he  criticised  him.  Kirk  knew 
well  that  himself  and  his  father  were  inimical.  He  observed 
secretly,  that  in  all  matters  of  division  and  decision  settled  by 
his  father  the  worst  fell  to  himself.  Events  took  place  more 
and  more  frequently  that  caused  the  boy  to  make  strong  and 
damaging  discrimination  between  his  father  and  his  mother. 
To  him  they  were  different  as  the  poles. 

Mrs.  Clinton's  aunt,  Alice  Athorpe,  had  lately  spent  a  few 
days  in  the  new  home  at  Severnly,  and  she  believed  in  tipping 
small  boys.  So  soon  as  the  cab  had  driven  away  off  rushed 
Kirk  down  the  road.  In  his  hand  a  five-shilling  piece  grew 
hot.  A  keen  desire  bottled  up  for  quite  a  fortnight  gave  wings 
to  his  feet. 

From  running  at  top  speed  he  pulled  himself  up  at  a  large 
new  tea-shop.  Anxiously  he  glanced  into  the  window  to  as- 
sure himself  "they"  were  not  gone,  then  he  entered  and  said 
breathlessly,  as  he  looked  into  the  window  from  inside — 

41 


42  THE   BORN"   FOOL 

"I  want  those,  please — those  big  black  ones,  with  the  flowers 
on  them,  eighteen-pence  each." 

He  put  the  money  on  the  counter. 

"No,  you  needn't  wrap  them  up !"  exclaimed  the  boy,  and 
he  took  eagerly  the  two"  large  common  vases  from  the  smiling 
shopman. 

"Thank  you !"  cried  Kirk,  with  a  vase  under  each  arm  as 
he  left  the  shop. 

"Hey !    Here's  the  change,  sir !" 

Kirk  returned,  flushing  a  little,  but  smiling.  "Put  it  in  my 
pocket,  please,"  said  he,  not  loosing  the  vases. 

About  ten  minutes  later,  he  barely  knocked,  and  burst  into 
the  dining-room,  panting  hot,  saying,  "Look!  mother!  For 
you !"  He  placed  them  in  her  arms. 

His  father  laughed  loudly  and  derisively.  "Humph !  Spent 
it  already,  you  young  cub,  have  you  ?" 

"Not  all,  father,"  apologised  Kirk,  much  chilled. 

But  Mrs.  Clinton,  murmuring  to  her  husband,  "Don't, 
dear,"  carefully  stood  the  vases  on  the  dining-room  table,  then 
turned  and  clasped  her  boy  gently  by  each  arm  and  kissed 
him  twice  with  a  divine  tenderness. 

"Thank  you,  darling — so  much,  they  will  be  precious  to 
me." 

She  removed  the  two  Dresden  jars  from  the  mantelpiece  to 
a  sideboard,  and  substituted  the  vases. 

"They  shall  stand  here  until  I  find  a  place  for  them." 

Kirk  looked  ecstatically  from  the  vases  to  his  mother.  His 
father  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  grinned  grimly  as  he  too 
looked  at  the  new  ornaments;  then  he  laughed  softly  and 
said — 

"Well,  well,  Agnes,  I  suppose  you  are  right.  .  .  .  Go 
away  quietly  now,  boy.  I'm  glad  to  see  you  think  of  your 
dear  mother." 

Kirk  received  a  loving  smile  as  he  went  out.  He  glowed 
with  satisfaction. 


THE   BOKN    FOOL  43 

At  midday  dinner,  when  his  father  was  at  home  and 
carved,  Kirk  was  served  last.  This  was  quite  proper  in 
Kirk's  eyes.  Mother  came  first,  Mary  was  a  girl,  and  Ted 
was  the  eldest.  But  Mr.  Clinton  always  cut  off  the  worst 
slices — for  example,  the  red  outside  pieces  of  the  cold  leg  of 
mutton — and  left  them  until  it  hecame  Kirk's  turn.  These 
pieces,  which  nauseated  the  fastidious  Kirk,  were  then  adroit- 
ly turned  over  and  given  to  him  best  side  uppermost.  One 
Saturday,  after  this  had  occurred  very  many  times — unno- 
ticed by  any  one  save  Kirk — the  boy  ostentatiously  turned 
each  slice  ugly  side  uppermost,  and  at  the  same  time  looked 
fixedly  at  his  father,  who  reddened  with  anger. 

"Why  do  you  look-at-me-like-that-sir  ?" 

"Kirk  dear !"  said  his  mother,  quite  surprised. 

"I  always  get  the  outside." 

"You-will-take-what-you-can-get,  sir,  and  be  thankful  that 
you  have  good  food  to  eat !  Impudence  .  .  .  puppy  ...  !" 

That  afternoon  Mrs.  Clinton,  in  her  room,  sent  for  Kirk. 
He  felt  he  was  to  be  chided,  and  he  went  with  a  certain  sulki- 
ness.  She  was  sitting  down,  and  took  his  hands  and  drew 
him,  slightly  resisting,  to  her  knees. 

"Kirk  dear,  I  was  so  grieved  that  you  were  rude  to  father." 

"Father's  not  fair,  mother  ...  he  doesn't  like  me  ...  he 
...  he  burnt  my  hand." 

"Kirk!  Kirk!  my  own  dear  boy,  never  speak  against 
father.  I  cannot  bear  it.  ...  He  has  many  great  troubles 
that  you  do  not  know  of.  He  cares  very  much  for  you  all. 
He  did  not  think  that  he  was  treating  you  unfairly ;  he  has 
so  much  to  think  of  that  he  cannot  be  troubled  with  little 
things.  Does  it  matter,  dear  ?  if  your  food  is  not  quite  as  you 
wish  ?  It  is  such  a  small  thing  to  be  rude  about — to  father, 
who  loves  me,  dear.  He  has  worked  so  hard — much  harder 
than  you  know — and  he  has  given  us  our  house,  and  earned 
for  us  our  clothes,  and  food,  and  all  we  have.  When  he  burnt 
your  hand — so  long,  long  ago,  Kirk — he  did  not  mean  to  hurt 


44  THE    BORN    FOOL 

you  so  much ;  he  did  not  know  he  had  hurt  you  so  much.  His 
hands  are  much  harder  than  yours,  and  he  didn't  know  that 
It  was  right  of  him  to  punish  you,  Kirk.  He  wished  to  save 
you  from  a  terrible  accident  he  remembered.  When  father 
himself  was  a  very  little  boy,  he  and  a  little  friend  he  loved 
played  with  matches,  and  his  playmate's  clothes  took  fire. 
His  little  friend  was  dreadfully  burnt  and  became  a  cripple. 
Father  was  very  fond  of  him.  So  you  see  why  father  pun- 
ished you?  .  .  .  Have  you  remembered  that,  all  this  long, 
long  time,  dear  ?  Why  did  you  not  tell  mother  what  troubled 
you  ?  You  will  forgive  father  now,  will  you  not,  dear  ?" 

Kirk  had  tears  in  his  eyes.    He  replied  huskily — 

"Yes,  mother." 

She  put  her  arm  round  him  and  drew  him  to  herself,  and 
the  boy  clasped  her  with  passionate  affection  and  repentance ; 
she  felt,  though,  that  his  strong  feelings  were  not  so  very 
much  altered,  and  a  thought  flashed  into  her  mind. 

"Do  you  know  that  father  is  a  very  brave  man,  Kirk  ?" 

"Is  he,  mother  ?  ...  Is  he  ?"  said  Kirk,  doubtfully. 

"Father  is  very  brave.  I  will  tell  you  and  Ted,  soon,  about 
something  father  once  did  that  was  very  noble,  very  heroic." 

A  few  minutes  later  Kirk  softly  closed  his  mother's  bed- 
room door  and  went  downstairs  in  trepidation  and  resolution 
— to  speak  to  his  father  very  graciously  indeed.  But  on 
arrival  he  could  only  say  doggedly  but  respectfully — 

"I  am  very  sorry  I  was  rude,  father." 

After  a  pause  of  five  seconds  his  father  looked  up  from  his 
papers,  gazed  at  him  sternly  from  beneath  his  shaggy  brows, 
relented  slightly,  and  said  gravely — 

"I  accept  your  apology.  I  hope  that  you  will  be  a  better 
boy  in  future,  Kirkpatrick." 

Before  writing  his  occasional  evangelistic  sermons  for  the 
Salbury  Church,  Mr.  Clinton  always  became  restless.  He  put 
off  writing  in  the  morning  and  would  do  it  in  the  afternoon, 


THE    BORN"    FOOL  45 

then  in  the  evening,  then  next  night ;  but  generally  it  was  on 
Saturday  evening  the  house  had  to  be  kept  scrupulously  silent. 
!N"or  could  he  write  if  any  one  else  were  in  the  room,  even  if 
it  were  his  wife.  For  some  reason  he  preferred  the  dining- 
room.  It  was  rather  dark  and  austere.  If  the  boys  or  any 
one  thoughtlessly  made  a  noise  in  the  hall,  he  would  dash  out 
on  them  full  of  irritation.  Animals  and  children  do  not 
understand  such  asperities,  and  the  keen  mind  of  Kirk  readily 
observed  the  inconsistency  between  his  father's  temper  and 
the  occupation  with  a  sacred  thing.  There  was  also  a  second 
cause  for  Kirk's  secret  contempt,  for  he  had  discovered  that 
his  father's  sermons  were  largely  "only  out  of  books." 

One  Saturday  evening,  three  weeks  after  he  had  been  rude 
to  his  father,  Kirk  knocked  at  the  drawing-room  door  and 
entered  quietly. 

"Mother,  father  says  Ted  and  I  are  to  go  to  bed  in  ten 
minutes  because  we've  made  a  noise,  and  I'm  sorry.  May 
we  please  have  our  supper  now,  mother  ?" 

His  mother  drew  from  her  hand  a  sock  that  she  was  darn- 
ing, and  looked  at  Kirk.  It  was  only  half-past  six. 

"Very  well,  dear.  Tell  Jane  to  give  you  some  milk  .  .  . 
yes  .  .  .  you  may  have  strawberry  jam.  Make  no  more  noise, 
dear,  it  disturbs  father  so  much  when  he  is  writing  .  .  .  and 
when  you're  both  in  bed,  I'll  come  up  and  tell  you  and  Ted 
a  story,  a  real  story." 

"Oo!  mother!  hoo-ray!"  said  Kirk,  with  suppressed  pleas- 
ure as  he  squeezed  her  hand. 

Outside  the  drawing-room  he  seized  Ted  and  hurried  him 
to  the  kitchen,  whispering — 

"Come  on,  Ted !  Strawberry !  and  mother's  coming  up  to 
tell  us  a  story !"  adding,  with  subtle  intent  to  excite  Ted,  "I 
shan't  tell  you  what  it's  about !" 

"You  don't  know,  I'll  bet !"  said  Ted,  doubtful,  but  a  little 
willing  to  be  played  on. 

"Oh,  don't  I?  Well,  you'll  see!"  very  impressively  said 
Kirk. 


46  THE   BORN   FOOL 

Mrs.  Clinton  sat  on  a  low  chair  •which  the  boys  had  placed 
ready  between  their  beds.  They  had  pushed  the  beds  near 
together.  The  chair  stood  between  the  bed-heads.  She 
touched  their  pillows  on  either  side,  and  each  boy  "snug- 
gled" one  of  her  beautiful  hands  and  forearms  in  his  breast. 
This  was  one  of  Kirk's  oddities,  in  which  their  mother  had 
long  acquiesced.  She  was  facing  the  window  and  looked  out 
at  their  neighbours'  great  "blossomed  pear-tree,"  as  she  car- 
ried her  thoughts  back  to  girlhood. 

"I  am  going  to  tell  you  a  true  story  about  father.  It  was 
when  he  was  in  France,  making  the  railway  with  Mr.  Talmas, 
who  you  remember  once  came  to  Mead  Wells  ?" 

"Yes,  he  made  me  a  smoke-box,"  said  Kirk. 

"They  had  to  build  the  big  bridge  over  the  river  at  Isaac : 
and  first  they  had  to  build  the  round  piers  that  stand  in  the 
river  like  those  at  Mead  Wells  bridge ;  but  this  is  a  very  big 
bridge,  and  the  piers  stand  far  out  in  the  deep  river,  like 
great  round  legs;  and  first  they  had  to  make  those  legs. 

"Now  you  know  how  upright  a  round  tin  can  will  float,  if 
you  put  some  water  in  it  ?  Well,  father  and  the  men  made  a 
thing  just  like  a  great  tin  can,  it  was  as  big  inside  as  this 
room,  only  it  was  round,  like  a  deep  tub,  and  was  made  of 
iron.  They  built  it  on  the  shore  on  a  sloping  platform  of 
wood,  and  then  made  it  slide  off  into  the  water.  They  poured 
in  water  until  the  big  tub  floated  straight  up,  and  then  two 
little  steamers  came  and  towed  it  to  its  place  in  the  river ;  and 
there  with  anchors  and  ropes  the  men  made  it  float  without 
moving,  just  in  the  right  place,  where  the  bridge  was  to  be ; 
and  it  looked  like  a  big  iron  can.  Then  they  poured  more 
water  in  and  made  it  go  down  until  the  sides  were  floating 
only  about  twice  as  high  as  my  knees  above  the  water  outside. 
And  then  they  brought  curved  flat  plates  of  iron  and  made  the 
sides  higher,  like  building  up  the  tin  can  longer  and  longer, 
and  they  filled  it  up  with  more  water,  and  it  sank  deeper  and 
deeper.  Do  you  understand,  Ted  ?" 

"Oh  yes,  and  the  bottom  of  it  kept  going  down  ?" 


THE   BORN   FOOL  47 

"Yes." 

"Oo !  I  see,  Ted !  Mother,"  spoke  Kirk,  "then  they  put 
more  sides  on?  and  at  last  it  stood  on  the  bottom  of  the 
river  ?" 

"Quite  right,  dear.  It  sat  on  the  bottom  and  the  sides  were 
high  out  of  the  water.  But  the  bottom  was  of  deep  mud,  and 
the  big  iron  can  sank  right  down  into  it  and  stood  still.  Then 
they  filled  it  quite  up  with  water  and  all  its  weight  was  on 
the  mud.  It  sank  in  deeply.  But  that  was  not  enough,  so 
they  got  on  to  it  and  put  big  beams  of  wood  across  the  top, 
and  piled  up  bars  of  iron  until  the  great  weight  squeezed  the 
bottom  deep  down  into  the  mud :  it  went  in  as  deep  as  this 
room  and  the  big  tub  was  as  deep  as  our  house !  Then  diver 
men  came,  like  those  you  saw  at  Hull,  and  they  went  down 
inside  the  great  iron  can,  and  undid  the  bottom.  They  un- 
screwed it  inside  and  took  out  all  the  bottom,  and  the  thick 
mud  welled  up  inside.  And  then,  you  see,  it  was  like  a  tin 
can  with  no  bottom ;  and  then,  when  they  kept  on  making  the 
sides  higher,  and  putting  weights  on  the  top,  the  sharp  round 
edge  cut  down  and  down  through  mud  and  sand  until  at  last 
it  came  to  hard  rock,  and  could  be  pushed  down  no  more." 

"And  then  what  did  they  do  ?" 

"They  pumped  all  the  water  out  until  they  could  look  down 
inside  and  see  the  mud,  and  they  lifted  the  mud  out  with 
huge  buckets  that  were  drawn  up  swiftly  by  an  engine  that 
stood  on  a  steamer  tied  alongside.  It  was  an  engine  very  like 
the  crane  you  both  saw  lifting  up  big  blocks  of  stone  at  Tach- 
mead  Quarry.  But  now  I  must  go  and  kiss  Mary  good-night, 
and  tuck  her  in,  and  then  I'll  tell  you  the  rest !" 

A  small  soprano  voice  had  several  times  called 
"Moth— er!" 

"Well,  they  took  out  all  the  mud  and  clay  inside  the  big 
can — it  is  called  a  caisson,  'ka-son' — and  then  found  that  only 
one  side  of  the  cutting  edge  was  resting  on  the  rock,  and  that 
would  never  doJ  .  .  .  Because,  dears,  the  bridge  would  be 


48  THE    BORN    FOOL 

so  very,  very  heavy,  with  the  trains  going  over  it  and  shaking, 
that  the  big  can  must  rest  all  round,  flat  on  the  rock,  or  else 
it  would  soon  hegin  to  lean  over.  Do  you  understand,  boys  ?" 

"I  think  I  know,  mother.  Aren't  they  going  to  put  the 
bridge  on  the  top  of  the  can  thing  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Ah!   I  see  now!"  said  Ted. 

"Yes,  they  had  to  break  the  rock  away  and  make  it  quite 
flat ;  and  it  was  very  hard  rock.  So  they  bored  lots  of  holes 
in  it  and  put  gunpowder  into  them,  and  fuses  like  those  in 
the  Chinese  crackers,  only  very  big  ones.  Then  they  took 
away  all  the  tools  and  lanterns.  Then  a  man  went  down  and 
lit  all  the  long  fuses,  and  then  he  was  wound  up  to  the  top 
in  the  great  bucket,  and  he  went  away  quickly  in  a  boat  till 
out  of  danger,  and  presently  such  a  banging!  Like  guns! 
Bits  of  rock  flew  up — and  then  some  thick  smoke  came  up. 
They  waited  a  long  time  till  they  thought  it  safe  to  go  back. 
Father  was  on  the  shore,  and  some  of  his  men  rowed  to  the 
caisson  before  him ;  and  two  of  them,  with  his  young  English 
foreman,  William  Colquhoun,  were  lowered  down,  they  were 
so  eager  to  see  if  the  rock  was  all  properly  broken,  and  they 
had  the  lanterns.  But  as  soon  as  they  got  to  the  bottom  the 
lights  went  out  and  the  men  fell  down  insensible  before  they 
knew  what  was  the  matter." 

"Why,  mother  ?    Why  ?"  breathlessly  asked  the  boys. 

"Because  gunpowder  makes  deadly  heavy  gas  when  it  goes 
off,  and  the  gas  stopped  at  the  bottom,  and  they  had  forgotten 
that.  The  Frenchmen  at  the  top  shouted  down,  but  no  one 
answered.  Then  they  were  frightened ;  then  they  shouted  to 
father  who  was  coming  on  one  of  the  boats.  The  men  stooped 
down,  lit  a  newspaper  and  dropped  it  down  the  black  square 
hole  where  the  ropes  went  through.  It  sailed  down  blazing, 
and  just  for  a  moment  they  saw  three  men  lying  there  quite 
still,  then  the  blaze  went  out  in  the  heavy  gas.  It  puts  out 
lights,  that  kind  of  gas.  No  one  dare  go  down.  Then  father 
was  rowed  up  in  great  haste.  He  told  two  men  to  pull  their 


THE    BORN    FOOL  49 

shirts  off  quick  and  he  made  the  pump  start  sucking  the  gas 
out  as  hard  as  it  could.  He  said  in  French,  'Lower  me, 
quick!  When  I  jerk  the  bell,  wind  up  quick!  Send  for  the 
doctor!  Throw  burning  things  down  to  light  me!  Get  a 
lantern  and  lower  it  down !"  He  soused  a  shirt  in  water,  tied 
it  round  his  face,  stepped  into  the  iron  bucket  and  at  once 
the  engine  lowered  him  down.  Father  rang  the  bell  in  ever 
so  short  a  time,  and  when  they  wound  him  up  he  was  stand- 
ing in  the  big  bucket,  and  he  had  put  in  the  two  insensible 
Frenchmen  and  was  holding  them.  He  breathed  hard  while 
they  pulled  the  poor  men  out ;  then  in  a  minute  he  retied  the 
wet  shirt  over  his  mouth  to  keep  the  gas  out,  and  was  lowered 
again.  The  man  lowering  the  lantern  for  father  dropped  it. 
They  could  not  see  father;  it  seemed  so  terribly  long,  the 
time.  Oh,  they  were  so  angry  with  the  man  for  dropping  it. 
At  last  the  bell  rang,  and  they  wound  up  so  fast  that  poor 
father's  head  hit  the  hole  as  he  came  up,  and  they  caught  him 
as  he  was  falling  back,  and  that  is  what  made  that  red  mark 
on  his  temple.  He  was  dreadfully  cut  and  bleeding,  but  he 
had  got  William  safe." 

Kirk  had  jumped  out  of  bed  and  stood  by  his  mother. 

"Oh !  .  .  .  how  awfully  brave !  .  .  .  I  didn't  know  father 
was  like  that!  .  .  .  Fancy!  father  did  that!"  .  .  . 

The  mother's  eyes  were  bright  and  a  bit  wet  with  these 
vivid  recollections,  and  with  pleasure  that  she  had  thought 
of  this  means  of  making  her  difficult  boy  see  his  father  as 
she  did. 

.  .  .  "And  were  they  dead,  mother  ?"  asked  Ted. 

"No,  dear,  the  doctor  recovered  them,  and  one  of  those  men 
is  old  Jacques,  of  whom  you  have  heard  father  tell  funny 
things." 

"And  what  did  the  men  do  and  all  of  them?  Wouldn't 
they  be  pleased  ?" 

"I  believe  they  all  kissed  him!  All  his  Frenchmen!  as 
soon  as  he  opened  his  eyes  and  sat  up.  And  it  made  him 
laugh,  grandpa  told  me,  although  his  poor  head  was  so  hurt." 


50  THE    BORN   FOOL 

"Oh,  how  funny !"  laughed  the  boys,  looking  at  each  other 
in  amazement. 

There  had  been  many  things  to  ask  about ;  the  gas,  the  wet 
shirts,  the  completion  of  the  bridge. 

"Yes,  you  may  talk  quietly  until  the  landing  clock  strikes 
again,  then  you  must  stop  and  go  to  sleep." 

"Tuck  me  in,  mother." 

"Me  too,  mother." 

It  was  a  warm  evening,  but  the  boys  would  on  no  account 
forego  this  form  of  caress. 

On  Sunday  afternoon  at  Mead  Wells,  Mrs.  Clinton  had 
always  read  and  talked  interestingly  to  her  children,  drawing 
them  together  and  using  her  gift  for  story  and  conversation 
to  hold  their  attention  closely  while  she  instilled  her  loving 
teaching  into  their  hearts.  The  children  took  great  pleasure 
in  these  Sunday  hours  with  their  mother,  and  looked  forward 
to  them.  But  soon  after  they  came  to  Severnly,  her  health 
became  so  frail  that  she  was  ordered  to  lie  down  and  try  to 
sleep  every  afternoon,  and  her  husband  insisted  on  obedience 
to  doctor's  orders. 

Mrs.  Clinton  was  broad-minded  over  books,  but  her  hus- 
band's narrow  views  required  a  compromise. 

On  Sundays  the  children  read  the  Quiver,  bound  copies  of 
The  Sunday  at  Home,  and,  specially  bought  for  them  by  their 
mother,  the  delightful  books  of  Mrs.  Ewing.  Then,  too,  they 
read  Little  Folks,  Peter  Parley's  Annual,  and  three  books 
that  Kirk  read  and  re-read  with  avidity,  the  "History  of  the 
Reformation,"  "Heroes  of  Charity,"  and  Smiles'  "Lives  of 
the  Engineers." 

Up  to  now,  Mr.  Clinton  had  taken  but  little  notice  of  what 
the  children  read  on  Sundays — he  had  been  abroad  so  much — 
and  his  wife  looked  after  all  the  children's  affairs.  But  now 
that  she  was  semi-invalid  he  began  to  exert  much  personal 
authority  over  them. 


THE   BORN   FOOL  51 

On  a  Sunday  afternoon,  two  weeks  after  Kirk  had  apol- 
ogised to  him,  he  took  out  of  Ted's  hands  the  latest  copy  of  the 
Quiver.  He  glanced  through  it,  sat  down,  and  again  looked 
through  it. 

"This  is  a  novel — nothing  but  a  trashy  novel !" 

He  read  for  ten  minutes  longer,  while  Ted  fidgeted  about. 
Kirk  had  been  reading  slowly  and  with  eminent  delight  in  an 
old  massive  Sunday  at  Home.  The  article  was  one  from  a 
long  series  called  "Episodes  of  an  Obscure  Life."  They  were 
the  very  human  experiences  of  a  young  curate  in  the  East 
End,  long  before  "slumming"  became  a  word. 

Mr.  Clinton  placed  Ted's  Quiver  face  down  on  the  table, 
and  said — 

"Bring  me  what  you  are  reading,  Kirkpatrick." 

On  the  open  page  Mr.  Clinton  read  the  remarks  of  a  Sun- 
day bird-catcher.  He  was  telling  the  curate  how  he  had,  after 
reading  it,  deliberately  torn  up  a  tract  given  him  by  an  old 
lady  in  a  train.  "Them  bits  fluttered  up  in  the  wind  and  frit 
away  the  best  clutch  o'  linnets  that  ever  kern  under  a  net;  just 
as  I  stooped  to  pull  the  cords !  Them  linnets  fled  up  and  set 
on  the  blackberry  'edge.  I  counted  twelve  cocks  and  eight 
'ens,  and  off  they  went,"  etc.,  etc.,  etc. 

Kirk  sat  as  it  were  in  the  dock,  awaiting  the  judgment  with 
foreknowledge.  In  the  "Episodes"  there  were,  further  on, 
most  absorbing  details  of  a  suicide.  Kirk  had  but  skimmed  it 
in  advance,  and  was  now  steadily  reading  onwards  to  that 
chapter.  His  father — secretly  interested — read  quite  a  long 
time.  Then  he  made  a  noise  with  his  tongue  and  teeth. 

"T' !  T' !  T' !  Rubbish,  trash,  bosh.  A  trashy  novel !  I 
cannot  let  you  read  this  book.  It  is  not  fit  for  the  Lord's 
Holy  Day!" 

.  .  .  "But  mother  said  I  might  read  it,  father  ?"  respect- 
fully ventured  Kirk. 

"Your  mother  evidently  was  not  aware  of  its  contents.  Put 
it  away." 

Kirk  obeyed,  with  a  gloomy,   dispirited  air.     A  heavy 


52  THE    BORN    FOOL 

silence  fell  upon  the  three  children.  They  felt  it  was  very 
much  nicer  when  mother  was  there. 

Mr.  Clinton  stood  by  the  bookcase  for  a  long  time,  pulling 
books  out,  turning  pages  over  and  reading.  Kirk  slowly  stole 
to  the  door. 

"Where  are  you  going,  sir  ?" 

"To  get  a  drink,  father." 

"You  will  have  your  tea  soon.  Read  this;  you  are  old 
enough  and  intelligent  enough  to  understand  it."  He  handed 
his  son  a  large  book  called  "Crozier's  Sermons."  It  was  one 
of  those  heavy  incompetents  that  crowd  the  shelves  of  the 
piously  dull,  and  are  read  never  except  by  the  authors. 

During  those  six  months  in  which  their  mother  remained 
weak,  how  suppressed  were  these  children,  how  tediously,  how 
desperately  slowly  passed  the  Sunday  afternoons,  while  they 
tried  to  extract  interest  from  those  unpalatable  monuments 
of  vanity  and  verbosity,  books  highly  honoured  even  when 
dusted  once  a  month  by  the  housemaid. 

Frequently  their  father,  aroused  by  something  he  was 
reading,  would  leave  his  chair,  walk  about  and  harangue 
them  on  religious  matters.  A  fierce  and  triumphant  note  ran 
through  all  his  teachings.  The  phrases  "One  hope  of  our 
calling,"  "the  hope  that  maketh  pure  even  as  He  is  pure," 
"the  coming  of  our  Lord,"  were  constantly  used,  and  when 
Mr.  Clinton  reached  his  more  startling  conclusions,  he  in- 
variably used  the  expressions:  "He  will  come  as  a  thief  in 
the  night !"  "Caught  up  to  meet  the  Lord  in  the  twinkling 
of  an  eye!"  "One  shall  be  taken,  the  other  left!"  "The 
hundred  and  forty-four  thousand  of  his  first-fruits  who  are 
waiting  and  watching  for  Him  will  be  translated  in  an  instant 
to  stand  by  the  Lamb !" 

On  the  Sunday  in  question,  as  Mr.  Clinton  pushed  his 
peroration,  his  face  was  darkly  triumphant  and  revengeful, 
his  voice  lower — 

"Then  woe  upon  those  who  are  left,  upon  all  those  people 
round  us ;  God  will  not  desert  them,  but  a  fearful  time  awaits 


THE    BORN    FOOL  53 

them.  All  those  who  wish  to  save  their  souls  will  hare  to  do 
so  through  martyrdom.  There  shall  be  wars  and  rumours  of 
wars;  nation  shall  fight  against  nation,  kingdom  shall  rise 
against  kingdom,  and  the  man  Antichrist  will  appear.  He 
will  be  a  Napoleonic  man,  who  will  rule  with  a  rod  of  iron. 
He  will  set  a  mark  in  their  hands,  the  mark  of  the  Beast, 
whose  number  is  six,  six,  six.  Those  who  have  it  not  shall 
not  buy  in  the  market  place,  they  will  have  to  suffer  terrible 
martyrdom,  every  man  will  carry  his  life  in  his  hand.  Ter- 
rible tortures  will  be  inflicted  on  mothers,  fathers,  children, 
who  refuse  his  deity.  And  the  time  is  now  at  hand,  when  the 
elect  shall  be  caught  up  to  meet  the  Lord.  ...  It  may  hap- 
pen to-night !" 

"The  night  is  far  spent,  and  the  time  is  at  hand.  The 
Lord  in  His  mercy  and  loving-kindness  has  sent  forth  His 
second  ministers  and  apostles  into  the  earth  .  .  .  He  has 
given  the  people  of  the  earth  this  last  chance.  The  daily 
papers  even  now  are  full  of  grave  symptoms.  The  great  na- 
tions are  all  ready  to  fly  at  each  other's  throats.  There  are 
wars  and  rumours  of  wars,  pestilences  and  famines.  The 
churches  of  God  are  deserted,  infidelity  flourishes  like  a  green 
bay  tree,  but  He  will  smite  them  with  a  rod  of  iron !" 

These  harangues  gave  Kirk  a  feeling  of  great  coming  dis- 
aster, and  a  keen  personal  fear.  He  always  believed  secretly 
that  himself  would  be  left  in  bed,  and  Ted  would  be  taken. 
He  had  found  an  old  copy  of  "Fox's  Book  of  Martyrs,"  filled 
with  horrible  old  wood-cuts,  and  he  had  read  secretly  some  of 
this  book,  and,  in  consequence,  been  unable  to  eat  or  sleep 
properly  for  two  days  afterwards — so  utterly  shocked  and  out- 
raged was  he,  and  so  burningly  and  revengefully  angered 
against  the  Roman  Catholics  who  had  done  these  revolting 
acts.  He  constantly  thought  over  with  fear  whether  he 
would  be  brave  enough  to  face  the  frightful  pictured  tortures, 
or  whether  he  would  be  a  coward  and  "recant."  He  was 
quite  convinced  that  himself  and  his  father  would  not  be 
"caught  up,"  and  he  looked  strangely  this  afternoon  on  Mary 


54  THE    BORN    FOOL 

and  Ted,  who  were  so  complacent  over  these  real,  dreadful 
and  most  imminent  things-to-be,  that  oppressed  himself  with 
such  questionings. 

Six  months  after  the  arrival  at  Severnly  Agnes  Clinton 
gave  birth  to  a  daughter.  Except  in  the  eyes  of  the  ordi- 
nary father,  mother  and  nurse,  the  infant  even  of  three 
months  is  very  rarely  beautiful  in  face,  but  this  baby-girl 
of  the  Clintons  was  beautiful  almost  from  birth.  She  quickly 
possessed  a  profusion  of  long  curly  hair,  silky,  and  of  bright 
but  darkest  brown.  Her  face  was  oval,  well  formed,  with  a 
fair,  transparent  olive  complexion;  the  little  features  were 
delicately  chiselled,  and  her  deep  violet-hued  eyes  looked  at 
one  with  a  preternatural  grave  sweetness  and  intelligence. 

A  week  or  two  after  the  birth  of  the  child,  Mr.  Clinton  ran 
downstairs  enthusiastically  and  entered  the  dining-room. 
He  spoke  much  more  to  himself  than  to  his  three  children  at 
table — 

"The  only  child  I  ever  felt  I  could  love!  Incomparably 
superior  to  you  others.  A  most  exquisite  child!  I  shall 
name  her  Stella  Kirkpatrick !  Her  face  is  a  star ;  you  others 
are  nothing." 

Kirk,  Ted  and  Mary  all  felt  much  humbled  by  these 
words ;  they  felt  that  there  was  truth  in  them,  but  their  feel- 
ings were  nearer  those  of  their  mother,  and  the  daily  visit  to 
kiss  her,  and  see  and  kiss  the  Eaphaelesque  infant,  gave  them 
intense  pleasure. 


CHAPTEK  VI 

TED  and  Kirk  were  sent  as  day-boys  to  Severnly  School, 
about  one  mile  from  the  town.  The  school  was  an 
ancient  place  of  learning,  but  modernised  and  possessing  new 
laboratories,  a  "shell,"  gymnasium,  swimming  bath,  and 
sanatorium. 

The  newer  parts  were  built  round  old  cricket  fields,  or 
adjoined  the  historic  buildings.  A  chancel  had  been  added 
carefully  to  the  rather  small  early  English  chapel. 

Severnly  ranked  as  one  of  the  best  known  smaller  public 
schools. 

Most  of  the  four  hundred  boys  came  from  various  parts 
of  England,  but  a  strong  contingent  came  from  Ireland,  a 
few  from  Scotland,  and  of  some  the  parents  were  in  India. 

Many  families  lived  in  Severnly  for  the  sake  of  their 
children's  education,  and  the  day-boys  numbered  over  a 
hundred. 

The  usual  feud  held  good  between  boarders  and  day-boys. 
At  Severnly  it  was  interesting  to  note  that  day-boys  were 
nearly  always  first,  both  in  games  and  learning.  Year  by 
year  they  carried  off  the  challenge  cups  and  valuable  long- 
founded  scholarships.  This  supported  one  of  Clinton's  views 
on  education — that  boys  should  never  be  cut  off  from  the 
home  influence. 

Ted  made  steady  all-round  progress  at  school,  but  Kirk 
was  more  variable.  In  English,  physics,  chemistry,  geog- 
raphy and  divinity  the  younger  boy  easily  was  high  up  in 
his  form,  but  he  deliberately  neglected  other  subjects;  so 
much  so,  that  he  received  the  disgrace  once  or  twice  of  being 

55 


56  THE    BORN    FOOL 

"put  on  satis";  and  for  persistent  evasion  of  German  gram- 
mar he  received  a  well-deserved  caning.  He  took  it  content- 
edly. Frequent  canings  were  the  order  of  the  day  at  Sev- 
ernly.  On  one  count  or  another  few  escaped  them.  The 
classics  master  wrote  in  Kirk's  second  report,  "Very  clever, 
but  idle,"  and  his  father  severely  lectured  him — taking  scant 
notice  of  the  English  and  science  masters,  who  had  written 
respectively,  "Good  progress/'  and  "Works  intelligently  and 
hard." 

The  "challenge"  system  was  in  full  vogue.  Was  one  boy 
offended  by  another  ?  he  sent  a  challenge  to  the  offender. 
They  met  behind  the  fives-courts,  and  there  fought  it  out  un- 
der the  supervision  of  prefects,  who  stopped  a  fight  if  the  boys 
were  very  unequal,  or  when  enough  blood  had  been  drawn. 
All  the  strict  conditions  of  English  fisticuffs  were  observed 
closely.  To  "hit  foul"  was  almost  as  indelible  as  to  "funk  a 
challenge."  Kirk  had  many  fights.  Always  very  nervous 
until  the  first  blow,  he  then  attacked  with  fury  or  defended 
with  much  sang-froid,  both  giving  and  receiving  thrashings ; 
and  his  rather  prominent  nose  often  bled  freely.  By  eagerly 
taking  lessons  from  the  sergeant  of  the  gymnasium,  he  made 
up  for  his  light  build. 

Ted,  big  but  peaceable,  had  but  one  fight;  only  once  was 
he  challenged.  Kirk  felt  an  agony  of  concealed  anxiety  when 
he  saw  his  brother's  set  face  amid  the  dense  ring  of  boys.  But 
Ted  was  quite  successful. 

Kirk  played  football  regularly  as  a  forward,  first  in  the 
third  and  then  in  the  second  team.  He  also  got  placed  in 
the  half-mile  and  mile,  and  though  quite  a  small  boy,  was 
honoured  by  handicaps  of  only  thirty  and  sixty  yards.  With 
the  science  master — keen  to  bring  up-to-date  the  school  mu- 
seum— Kirk  soon  became  great  friends.  He  had,  of  course, 
at  once  joined  the  school  "Bug  and  Beetle  Society."  But  at 
this  time  it  was  the  romantic,  the  beautiful,  the  hidden  in 
geology,  ornithology,  and  botany  that  so  attracted  him.  In 
the  coldly  scientific,  Kirk  felt  as  yet  but  little  interest.  He 


THE    BOKN    FOOL  57 

spent  all  holidays  in  excursions  with  chosen  spirits,  who,  led 
by  himself,  penetrated  the  most  sacred  and  distant  preserved 
fastnesses  of  the  neighbourhood.  In  those  days  bird-nesting 
was  a  sport  well  recognised  in  the  society  of  schools.  Climb- 
ing was  the  finer  part  of  it,  and  Kirk,  by  the  age  of  fourteen, 
was  held  by  many  to  be  "cock  climber"  of  the  school.  He 
had  special  climbing-irons  made,  was  an  adept  with  ropes, 
and  the  highest  nest  in  the  highest  tree  became  unsafe  from 
his  attack.  Kirk  brought  many  rare  egg  specimens  to  the 
museum,  and  also  an  increasing  number  of  fossils.  These 
were  received  warmly  by  Dr.  Barry,  who  soon  made  the  boy 
president  of  the  geological  section  of  the  "Bugs  and  Beetles." 

With  intense  concentration  of  mind  and  soul,  Kirk  wrote 
little  papers  on  geology.  These  were  edited  by  Dr.  Barry, 
and  published  in  "The  Tudor  Rose,"  the  school  journal.  On 
the  recommendation  of  Barry,  Kirk  was  exempted  by  the 
captains  from  Wednesday  "footer" — the  opinion  in  conclave 
being  that  "Clinton  minor's  not  a  tuckshop  rotter ;  we  know 
he  wants  it  for  tramping,  et  cetera ;  he's  never  skulked,  and  he 
makes  a  doocid  good  fox,  D'you  remember  last  season? 
found  absolutely  new  ground  we'd  never  been  in !  and  fairly 
had  us  .'didn't  he?" 

A  resolution  passed  that  "Clinton  minor  is  hereby  ex- 
empted from  Wednesday  games,  on  condition  that  he  keep 
himself  fit,  and  be  prepared  to  enter  for  all  school  paper- 
chases." 

Amid  these  objective  adventures  there  came  more  and 
more  those  same  subjective  states  of  mind  that,  as  a  child, 
he  had  known  in  the  earliest  years  at  Mead  Wells.  All  lost 
ancient  things,  all  things  to  be,  and  flowers,  and  solemn  woods, 
and  changing  skies,  began  to  allure  him  more  than  eggs  of 
birds.  The  mystery  and  vast  antiquity  of  fossils  began  to 
enthral  him  more  than  their  collection.  Within  him  an 
extraordinary  and  profound  sense  of  personal  kinship  with 
nature  grew  steadily.  He  sat  in  church,  and  during  the  ser- 
mons and  the  uninteresting  parts  he  became  a  visionary,  and 


58  THE   BOKN   FOOL 

dreamed,  living  far  away  in  his  spirit  in  sweet  secluded  places 
in  the  woods  known  to  himself.  These  feelings  and  dream- 
ings  he  kept  deeply  hidden,  even  from  his  mother. 

But  Kirk  and  Ted  together,  as  comrades,  revelled  in  the 
long  summer  holidays.  The  great  orders  of  the  day  were 
"excursions" — mostly  fishing  jaunts.  Kirk  had  given  to 
these  important  matters  much  attention.  He  went  to  the 
library,  where  could  be  seen  a  great  county  map  that  showed 
all  the  ancient  stately  homes,  the  fish-ponds,  ornamental 
lakes,  rivers,  streams,  and  moats.  In  the  dictionary  he  found 
the  names  of  the  old  families,  and  he  wrote  polite  boyish  let- 
ters asking  for  himself  and  his  brother  permission  to  fish. 
In  this  way  he  received  the  entree  to  private  waters  that 
were  quite  unknown  to  other  boys.  He  made  Ted  keep  abso- 
lutely secret  from  their  friends  all  knowledge  of  these  places. 

Never  would  they  forget  one  of  these  glorious  days.  It 
was  in  the  summer,  and  when  they  had  been  nearly  three 
years  at  Severnly.  Kirk  had  found  a  lake  that  looked  most 
enticing,  even  on  the  map.  By  himself  he  had  gone  forth 
miles,  and  been  away  all  day.  He  had  reconnoitred  round 
an  old  estate,  listened  keenly  for  keepers,  slipped  inside  a 
dense  wood  that  curved  downhill,  and  so  made  his  way 
stealthily  beneath  cover,  until  he  stood  in  deep  shadow  at  the 
margin  of  the  water,  and  saw,  across  the  cloud-  and  sun- 
reflecting  lake,  a  green  smooth  slope,  and  beyond  that  the  long 
rich  Elizabethan  fagade,  standing  so  old  and  stately  in  Italian 
gardens — set  with  white  statues,  lawns  and  terraces,  and 
glowing  red  flower-beds.  On  the  right  and  left  were  mighty 
oaks  and  elms,  beyond  these  were  more  and  more  great  trees, 
and  beneath  them  and  between  them  were  scattered  many 
fallow-deer,  moving  in  and  out  of  shade  and  sunshine. 

In  the  lake,  what  "risings"  and  movements  of  fish  saw 
he!  His  heart  stood  still  with  fierce  suppressed  excitement 
when  he  discovered  that  the  moveless  brown  thing  in  the 
water  was  a  most  huge  carp,  idly  basking. 


THE    BORN    FOOL  59 

He  went  back  through  the  still  and  silent  wood,  gained  the 
path,  and  then  walked  home  at  a  great  rate,  making  up  let- 
ters as  he  went.  On  arrival  he  took  a  sheet  of  his  father's  note- 
paper,  and  wrote,  in  large  round  upright  hand,  a  very  well- 
composed  letter  to  General  Sir  George  Wellby,  informing  him 
that  if  the  desired  permission  for  a  day's  fishing  were  given, 
he,  Kirk,  gave  his  word  of  honour  that  all  undersized  fish 
would  be  put  back,  all  gates  would  be  closed  carefully  after 
opening,  no  paper  would  be  left  about,  no  game  would  be 
disturbed,  and,  if  he  allowed  them  to  use  the  punt,  then  they 
would  clean  it  out  when  they  had  finished  using  it.  He  added 
that  his  brother  and  himself  were  good  swimmers. 

A  few  days  later,  Kirk  was  laughing  and  leaping  round 
Ted,  and  punching  him  here  and  there.  Ted  also  was 
laughing. 

"You've  got  leave  ?  you  old  beggar " 

"Yes!"  Kirk  thrust  the  thick  crested  note  into  Ted's 
hands,  and  they  read  it  together. 

"Stratton  House, 

"August  15,  19 — . 

"General  Sir  George  Wellby  accepts  Mr.  Clinton's  conditions  and 
has  pleasure  in  giving  him  permission  to  fish  on  one  day,  in  com- 
pany with  his  brother.  Mr.  Clinton  must,  if  required,  produce  this 
permission  for  the  information  of  Sir  George's  gamekeepers." 

The  note  was  written  in  a  lady's  delicate  clear  hand- 
writing. Kirk  immediately  showed  it  to  his  mother;  she 
was  pleased  and  much  amused,  and  with  her  help  he  wrote 
his  reply. 

For  the  day  of  the  excursion  Mrs.  Clinton  exempted  the 
two  boys  from  family  prayers.  She  came  down  very  much 
earlier  than  usual,  and  cut  their  sandwiches,  packed  up  gen- 
erous pieces  of  cake,  and  gave  each  a  bottle  of  raspberry 
wine.  She  bade  them  be  very  careful  in  the  punt.  She 
wished  them  good  luck,  and  in  tremendous  spirits  each 
hugged  and  kissed  her,  and  then  they  set  off.  Their  fishing 
baskets  were  crammed  with  tackle,  worms,  wasp-grubs,  es- 


60  THE    BORN   FOOL 

sence  of  Tolu  paste,  gentles,  and  every  material  of  war  that 
Kirk  could  invent  and  lay  hands  on ;  and  Ted  had  by  some  un- 
heard of  means  borrowed  his  father's  landing  net — Kirk  had 
his  own.  The  day  was  perfect  for  the  sport.  A  warm  south- 
west wind  continuously  and  very  gently  carried  up  great 
clouds,  bright  and  soft.  Their  light  translucent  shadows 
dreamed  and  stole  on  over  the  scented  heated  woodlands. 
Stratton  House  stood  seven  miles  from  Severnly,  and  it  was 
after  nine  before  the  brothers  passed  over  the  fine  grass  of 
the  park,  to  halt,  well  back  from  the  willow  herb  and  rushes 
that  marked  the  water's  edge.  Though  hot  and  eager,  they 
stood  still  and  gazed.  How  beautiful  was  the  lake!  .  .  . 
Then  they  chose  places  near  each  other,  approached  warily, 
knelt  down,  and  began  feverishly  to  "put  together."  Before 
Kirk  ended  his  elaborate  preparations  Ted  "pulled  up"  and 
called  to  him.  Kirk  dropped  his  own  rod  when  he  saw  Ted 
actually  playing  a  fish. 

"Give  him  line !  give  him  line,  Ted !"  cried  he  softly,  and 
came  up  with  cat-like  steps  and  took  up  the  landing  net.  In 
a  minute  both  boys,  their  hearts  beating  with  excitement, 
were  admiring  a  silvery  one-pounder. 

Before  he  put  his  own  line  in  Kirk  netted  a  second  fish 
for  Ted. 

Until  noon  each  had  equal  luck.  Kirk  had  moved  further 
from  his  brother,  when  he  heard  him  call,  "Kirk!  Kirk! 
Quick !"  He  went  swiftly  to  him. 

"I've  got  something  frightful  on !  Look  at  that !  What- 
ever can  it  be  ?" 

The  slender  rod  was  heavily  bent,  the  line  slanted  away 
far  out  into  deep  water,  did  not  move  about  or  rush  through 
the  water,  but  continually  jerked  and  twitched  strongly. 

"Keep  a  steady  pull  on  him !  Keep  a  steady  pull  on  him !" 
advised  Kirk.  And  presently  a  powerful  ambling  movement 
commenced.  Backwards  and  forwards,  now  this  way,  now 
that  way  went  the  line,  going  further  and  further  out  in  the 
lake,  until  Ted's  arms  ached  delightfully.  Suddenly  a 


THE    BORST    FOOL  61 

strange  head  showed,  then  came  a  flash  of  black  and  silver 
side. 

"It's  a  simply  e-normous  eel!"  declared  Kirk,  and  Ted 
kept  up  the  pressure,  until  the  taut  line  neared  the  water- 
edge. 

Again  and  again  Kirk  tried  to  net  the  powerful  creature. 
It  was  no  sooner  half  in  than  out ! 

"Oh,  Kirk,  we  shall  lose  him!  It's  only  roach  tackle!" 
cried  the  anxious  Ted.  Kirk  threw  the  net  down  and  began 
furiously  to  unlace  his  boots.  "Keep  him  going  gently,  old 
man!"  He  kicked  one  boot  off — a  violent  lashing  began  at 
the  water  edge — and  Kirk  jumped  in,  one  boot  on,  one  off. 
He  was  up  to  his  waist,  but,  net  in  hand,  he  part  pushed, 
kicked,  netted  and  struggled  the  great  eel  through  the  reeds 
on  to  the  grass,  where  it  was  lively  as  a  thick  snake,  and  bit 
savagely  at  the  boys.  Ted  put  a  foot  on  it.  A  moment  and 
it  slid  free;  he  stood  on  it  with  both  feet — the  line  was 
broken.  Kirk  fiercely  groped  in  his  pockets.  Ted  got  a  foot 
on  the  eel.  In  a  moment  Kirk  on  his  knees  cut  the  neck  deep. 

"Oh !"  exclaimed  Ted,  jumping  off,  and  shocked  at  so  much 
blood.  "It's  like  killing  something !" 

"Rather!"  triumphantly  cried  Kirk.  "Why!  he  tried  to 
bite  us  like  anything !  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  we've  got  him !  He's 
the  biggest  thing  you've  ever  caught !  Bet  he's  five  pounds !" 
He  washed  the  blood  from  the  knife,  and  then  took  off  his 
wet  clothes  and  wrung  them  out  in  the  sunshine.  "I'll  bet 
even  father  would  like  to  have  caught  it !" 

"Good  old  Kirkie !"  laughed  Ted.    "This  is  sport !" 

After  this  exciting  event,  they  covered  their  fish  with  more 
grass  to  shade  them  from  the  sun  and  keep  the  wasps  off. 

Then  for  some  time  the  fish  ceased  feeding,  so  the  brothers 
ate  their  lunch,  with  that  rich  enjoyment  of  food  that  all 
healthy  boys  possess,  accentuated  to-day  by  the  romance  of 
the  al  fresco  and  their  splendid  sport. 

Afterwards,  for  some  reason  occult  to  Ted,  Kirk  made 
himself  as  respectable  as  possible.  He  washed  his  boots,  and 


62  THE   BORN   FOOL 

carefully  cleaned  and  re-cleaned  his  grubby  nails  with  the 
small  scissors  given  him  by  his  mother. 

"My  word!  you  young  gentlemen  know  what  you're 
about!" 

The  boys  were  startled;  behind  them  stood  a  boy  and  a 
big  keeper,  and  the  man  had  quietly  pushed  the  grass  off  the 
two  fine  heaps  of  fish.  He  now  carefully  put  it  back.  Kirk 
produced  the  letter.  The  keeper  read  it  slowly,  and  said — 

"All  right,  young  gentlemen." 

Then  he  paused,  again  looked  at  the  two  heaps,  and  said — 

"Miss  Madge  would  like  to  see  them,  I'll  warrant." 

"Is  Miss  Madge  the  little  girl  I  saw  on  the  pony  ?"  asked 
Kirk. 

"Yes,  that's  her,  sir.  I'll  send  up  word  to  the  house.  She 
wants  to  do  some  fishing,  but  we've  got  nought  but  pike- 
trimmers.  I'll  warrant  Miss  Madge  'ud  like  to  see  them 
fish." 

"We  shall  be  very  pleased  indeed  if  she  will  come  and 
look." 

In  the  afternoon  the  clouds  had  vanished,  the  day  had 
heated  up,  and  the  shadows  of  the  great  elms  had  grown 
longer,  when  the  boys  saw  her  coming  down  with  her  father. 
As  they  approached  near,  Ted  and  Kirk  raised  their  silver- 
badged  caps,  and  smiled.  Kirk  saw  that  she  was  indeed  very, 
very  pretty,  very  graceful  and  dark. 

"And  you  are  Mr.  Kirkpatrick  ?"  said  the  general,  also 
smiling,  with  a  secret  amusement ;  and  he  next  held  quite  a 
professional  conversation  on  fishing,  Kirk  respectfully,  but 
freely  and  very  positively  and  firmly,  imparting  his  knowl- 
edge and  beliefs.  The  little  girl  listened,  and  watched  Kirk. 

"This  is  my  daughter  Marjorie." 

The  two  boys  again  raised  their  caps,  and  Kirk,  after  he 
had  shown  her  the  dead  shining  fish,  and  heard  her  ex- 
clamations, asked  her  shyly — 


THE    BOEN    FOOL  63 

"Would  you  like  to  fish  with  my  rod  ?  The  fish  are  begin- 
ning to  feed  again.  .  .  .  I'll  show  you  how." 

"Thank  you!  Oh,  papa!  I  can,  can't  I?  And  shall  we 
go  in  the  punt?  Oh  yes,  dad!  you  must  come  in  the  punt 
with  us !  You  know  you  promised !" 

The  fine  big  man,  smiling,  was  drawn  in  the  desired  di- 
rection, and  Kirk,  who  had  by  his  own  eagerness  increased 
her  desire,  gathered  his  things  hastily  and  followed. 

"I'll  bait  and  take  off  for  her,  sir !" 

"Oh,  how  kind  of  you !  Thank  you !  Tom  never  lets  me 
touch  his  rod,  but  he  never  catches  any !" 

The  general  took  the  quaint  paddle,  and  under  Kirk's 
very  exact  directions  they  presently  anchored  quietly  before 
a  favourable  opening  in  the  lilies. 

The  general  lit  a  cheroot.  In  the  meanwhile  Kirk  baited, 
explained  to  Marjorie,  and  then  threw  in  with  his  very  best 
skill.  He  placed  the  rod  in  the  small  girl's  hands,  showing 
her  how  to  hold  the  running  line,  and  how  she  was  to  "strike." 
She  asked  Kirk  many  questions,  taking  up  a  more  reserved 
manner  with  him. 

The  proverbial  luck  of  beginners  held  good  and  the  float 
soon  went  under.  Madge  struck,  cried  out,  but  did  quickly 
what  Kirk  told  her.  A  minute  later  he  netted  a  panting  fish, 
which  escaped  his  hands  and  jumped  about  the  big  punt- 
bottom  before  it  lay  gasping. 

Then  with  a  pained  expression  the  child  hastily  put  down 
the  rod,  clasped  her  hands  to  her  bosom,  then  stood  up,  turned 
to  her  father  and  buried  her  lovely  little  face  on  his  shoulder. 
Kirk  heard  her  stifled  exclamations. 

"Oh !  oh,  how  cruel !  Oh,  I  can't  bear  it  I  Please  put  it 
back,  poor,  poor  thing !  Oh !  please  put  it  in !" 

Kirk  glanced  with  perplexity  at  her  father  and  received  a 
whimsical  nod. 

He  stooped  down  and  the  little  girl  heard  a  splash. 

"There!  silly!"  Her  father  patted  the  kind  little  form. 
"It's  back  in  the  water !  You're  a  fine  fisherman,  you  are !" 


64  THE    BORN    FOOL 

She  raised  her  face  and  smiled  apologetically,  very  shyly  and 

deliciously,  at  Kirk. 

"You  don't  mind,  please  ?    It  seems  so  cruel." 

"It's  not  really,"  said  Kirk,  very  anxiously,  and  much 

disturbed.     "My  father  says  they  can't  feel,  and  it's  not 

cruel." 

Marjorie  and  her  father  had  long  gone,  and  the  August 
evening  drew  in.  The  boys  were  deeply  loth  to  cease,  but, 
growing  hungrier,  at  last  they  stopped  fishing,  loaded  them- 
selves up  exultantly,  and  began  to  tramp  back  in  the  dewy 
dusky  eve.  They  made  short  cuts  through  deep  woodland 
and  over  silent  turf,  while  the  bats  clicked  round  them  over- 
head. They  arrived  long  after  dark,  with  aching  shoulders; 
fagged  but  triumphant.  What  a  moment  it  was  when  they 
gruntingly  lifted  off  the  bags  and  baskets.  Even  father 
went  to  the  kitchen  to  see  the  haul,  and  Kirk,  with  feelings 
suppressed,  replied  respectfully  to  his  rather  kindly  questions. 
Then  mother  made  them  have  supper  before  they  went  into 
the  important  matter  of  weighing  the  fish.  They  ate  in  the 
kitchen  but  in  great  state,  for  they  had  walked  into  thick 
mud  in  a  dark  woodland  lane,  and  they  were  very  late,  fishy, 
garrulous,  and  quite  unfit  for  the  dining-room.  Mary  came 
down  in  her  little  dressing  gown  to  see  Ted's  and  Kirk's 
fish ;  with  their  heads  the  brothers  "bunted"  her  rather  bois- 
terously till  she  took  refuge  with  her  mother ;  then  they  kissed 
her  good-night,  and  fell  to  again  upon  the  especially  good 
supper.  They  ate  enormously,  and  when  mother  had  gone, 
they  chaffed  the  maids,  argued  vehemently,  good-humouredly, 
learnedly,  as  to  the  honour  of  the  eel  capture ;  and  then,  sup- 
per finished,  while  Kirk  was  down  in  the  cellar  weighing 
and  gloating  over  the  fish,  Ted  fell  fast  asleep  in  his  chair. 


CHAPTEK  VII 

ABOUT  this  time  Kirk  received  a  first  good  mark  from 
his  father.  Mr.  Clinton  was  a  keen  fisherman,  and 
very  skilled  with  the  dry  fly.  In  his  younger  days,  he  and 
his  wife .  together  had  spent  holidays  in  Scotland  amid  the 
banks  and  braes,  where  fishing  is  a  most  properly  important 
matter.  Trout  and  grayling  were,  however,  much  preserved 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Severnly,  and  Mr.  Clinton,  despite 
the  financial  situation,  had  early  subscribed  to  the  rental  of 
a  piece  of  good  water  shared  by  half  a  dozen  men.  In  ex- 
cuse it  may  be  said  that  fishing,  skating,  and  perhaps  theol- 
ogy, were  his  only  hobbies. 

Partly  upon  business,  partly  upon  pleasure,  Mr.  Clinton 
was  to  drive  out  ten  miles  one  spring  day  near  Easter,  to  a 
broad  brook  that  rippled  and  gloomed  through  a  deep  un- 
dulating woodland.  The  casual  groom  being  unwell,  and 
Kirk  handy,  Mr.  Clinton  suddenly  bade  the  boy  make  ready. 
Kirk  required  no  urging.  He  rushed  up  to  his  room,  made 
himself  "fit  to  go  with  father,"  and  then  caught  up  his  own 
new  fly-rod  and  ran  downstairs. 

Outside,  he  climbed  up  smartly  into  the  dog-cart  and  took 
his  seat.  He  was  in  a  state  of  silent,  eminent,  and  surprised 
high  spirits.  As  they  drove  along  he  replied  wisely  and 
attentively  to  his  father's  occasional  remarks ;  and  half-way, 
his  father,  after  some  instructions,  placed  the  reins  in  Kirk's 
hands  and  gave  him  a  lesson  in  the  art  of  driving. 

The  keen  primitive  hunting  instinct  in  the  boy  taught  him 
intuitively  exactly  what  to  do  in  attending  upon  his  father. 
He  landed  the  fish  with  no  small  skill,  never  got  in  the  way, 

65 


66  THE   BOEN   FOOL 

stealthily  and  without  shaking  them  climbed  two  awkward 
trees  that  overhung  big  pools,  to  release  his  father's  casts 
from  the  twigs,  and  descended  each  time  without  having  dis- 
turbed the  feeding  fish.  He  stepped  with  the  wary  step  of  his 
father,  took  cover  with  equal  facility,  and  was  in  fact  a  very 
good  ghillie.  At  lunch — an  excellent  meal  in  Kirk's  opinion 
— his  father  warmed  a  little,  and  discoursed  on  flies,  knots, 
casts,  waters  of  many  sorts,  and  presently  found  himself  put- 
ting up  a  two-fly  cast  for  his  son.  Mr.  Clinton  critically  ex- 
amined the  new  rod. 

"Aunt  Athorpe  sent  it  me,"  said  Kirk,  "and  I  can  cast  a 
bit  now,  for  dace,  you  know,  father.  .  .  .  Aunty  asked  what 
I  would  like  for  my  birthday.  So  I  wrote  a  proper  specifica- 
tion of  the  kind  I  wanted.  .  .  ." 

"Indeed !"  Mr.  Clinton  met  his  son's  eyes  for  a  moment, 
and  slightly  smiled. 

"It  had  £3  on  it  ...  I  didn't  know  it  would  be  all  that. 
» 

"It  was  marked  £3,  Kirkpatrick,  and  you  were  unaware 
that  it  would  be  so  costly,"  said  Mr.  Clinton  in  a  manner  by 
no  means  unkindly. 

"Yes,  father,"  said  Kirk,  respectfully. 

While  Mr.  Clinton  tried  the  rod,  he  thought  rather  bitterly 
about  Alice  Athorpe — she  who  had  opposed  his  marriage  with 
Agnes.  .  .  .  But  coming  back  to  things  in  hand,  he  spoke — 

"Too  whippy  .  .  .  really  a  grayling  rod  .  .  .  humph! 
!You  must  not  whip,  but  throw;  this  way  ...  so  ...  so, 
allowing  fully  to  the  rod  its  natural  swing  .  .  .  there,  hold 
it  thus.  Take  it " 

Kirk,  under  his  father's  somewhat  impatient  but  skilled 
tuition,  learnt  quickly  to  throw  a  fly  very  fairly  well.  The 
father  felt  a  new  and  strange  interest  in  his  son.  After  him- 
self taking  a  very  large  trout — which  caused  Kirk  the  most 
intense  but  sternly  suppressed  excitement — Mr.  Clinton 
ceased  fishing  and  sat  down  beneath  a  hawthorn.  He  drew 
out  his  cheroot  case.  He  bade  Kirk  cast  just  above  where  the 


THE    BORN    FOOL  67 

ripple  died  into  the  smooth  deep  water,  and  while  his  father 
rested,  Kirk  captured  his  first  trout. 

From  this  day,  Ted,  who  had  been  his  father's  favourite — 
or,  rather,  who  had  always  received  more  notice  than  Kirk 
— became  unjustly  neglected.  Mr.  Clinton  in  the  holidays 
frequently  took  his  second  son  with  him  when  visiting  works 
and  when  fishing.  The  new  friendship  was  limited  strictly  to 
self-interests.  Kirk  never  felt  affection  towards  his  father, 
and,  quite  unconsciously,  the  boy  assumed  a  prematurely 
masculine,  serious,  and  business-like  manner  when  with  him. 
Often  the  two  were  silent  for  hours.  Kirk  was  aware  that  his 
handiness  with  the  net  or  gaff,  his  fishing  skill,  and  his  pre- 
cocious interest  in  civil  engineering  works,  paid  for  these 
coveted  jaunts. 

Mrs.  Clinton  also  was  not  deceived.  She  saw  clearly  the 
great  mental  and  emotional  gap  between  the  boy  and  his 
father.  Her  husband's  would-be  praise  only  saddened  her. 
One  day  he  had  just  returned,  and  stood  by  her.  They  spoke 
of  Kirk. 

"Yes.  He  has  been  with  me  all  day.  He  possesses  a  brain 
and  a  hand.  He  has  more  tact  than  Ted.  Never  annoys 
me  by  speaking — unless  there  really  is  something  to  be  said. 
There's  much  more  in  the  boy  than  I  thought  .  .  ."  Mr. 
Clinton  paused,  and  then  added,  with  a  slight  tone  of  sur- 
prise and  pique,  "But  callous,  Agnes,  a  strangely  unaffection- 
ate,  reserved  boy — not  frank — neither  like  you  nor  like  me !" 

"Kirk?  Oh  no!  Why,  dearest,  Kirk  is  the  most  .  .  ." 
She  turned  and  put  her  hand  on  her  husband's  shoulder. 
"But  you  and  he  have  never  quite  understood  each  other, 
dear.  You  will  come  together  more  as  he  grows  older." 

Mr.  Clinton  made  no  reply;  but  he  smiled  doubtfully, 
glancing  downwards. 

In  Russia  during  many  winter  months,  and  twice  in 
Canada,  Clinton  greatly  enjoyed  long  spells  of  skating. 


68       .  THE    BORN    FOOL 

Clever  when  a  boy,  and  well-taught  by  his  father,  he  had 
never  missed  a  single  brief  English  opportunity  for  practice, 
and  now  he  was,  without  doubt,  an  expert  of  the  very  first 
rank. 

For  skating,  Clinton  would  give  any  member  of  his  staff 
a  holiday,  if  it  possibly  could  be  allowed ;  and  while  the  ice 
bore,  the  office  saw  but  little  of  himself.  In  Canada  he  learnt 
scientific  intricacy  and  speed;  at  home  he  had  acquired  pre- 
cision; in  Russia  he  was  captivated  by  elegance  and  car- 
riage, passion  of  movement,  beautiful  singularity  of  style; 
and  he  had  mastered  all  the  technique  of  this  sport. 

After  a  very  heavy  snowstorm,  followed  by  a  week  of  hard 
frost,  the  Clinton  family,  with  other  residents  who  were 
privileged,  went  out  a  few  miles  to  Coombe  Water.  This 
large  secluded  mere  was  in  the  deer-park  of  the  Earl  of 
Severnly.  To-day  it  showed  a  wide  and  black  polished  sur- 
face, part  surrounded  by  snowy  slopes,  and  part  enclosed 
by  noble  hanging  woods.  The  hoar  frost  each  night  had 
done  fairy-like  work  and  made  a  greater  change;  and  now 
the  white  woods,  the  exquisite  frosted  trees,  the  deeply  cov- 
ered slopes,  the  black  shining  lake,  the  pale-blue  sky,  made  a 
pure  winter  transformation  that  enchanted. 

A  kindling  of  excitement  filled  Clinton  as  he  noted  the 
absolute  perfection  of  the  ice.  His  tall  approaching  figure, 
of  a  severe  strong  grace,  his  Russian  furred  cap,  and  the 
closely-fitting  continental  winter-costume — giving  freedom  to 
the  muscular  but  finely-modelled  thigh  and  leg — had  been 
noted  by  many  of  those  already  on  the  lake.  The  Earl  of 
Severnly's  party  and  his  heir  were  mingling  on  the  ice  with 
every  one,  with  that  freedom  and  jollity  given  only  by  good 
sport.  As  Clinton  put  on  his  skates  the  word  went  round, 
and  a  general  movement  left  clear  a  great  central  space  of 
ice.  That  movement  also  thrilled  Clinton.  A  brilliant  Rus- 
sian scene  flashed  across  his  vision,  he  stood  up,  tested  the 
firm  attachment  of  the  blades,  and  then,  without  visible  ef- 
fort, with  head  well  up,  shoulders  back,  and  hands  grace- 


THE    BORN    FOOL  69 

fully  raised,  without  a  lift  of  the  bright  blades  that  each 
closely  followed  each  like  two  sinuous  silver  fishes,  he  was 
gliding  forward  swifter  and  swifter  from  the  lakeside,  in 
long  beautiful  flamboyant  curves,  of  which  his  slowly  but 
greatly  swaying  body  seemed  absolutely  a  part.  A  minute 
later,  while  in  the  centre  of  an  immense  sweeping  curve,  at 
high  speed  without  effort,  with  scarcely  a  visible  lift  of  the 
blades,  the  long  scroll  he  drew  was  rushing  suddenly  as  it 
were  from  his  front  blade,  and  Agnes  heard  an  exclama- 
tion— 

"Great  Ged !  He's  flying,  backwards!  Did  you  see  him  re- 
verse ?  Did  you  ?" 

"Don't  speak !  it's  too  lovely !"    .    .    .   said  a  young  girl. 

Clinton  as  he  swept  backwards  lowered  his  hands  slowly, 
folded  his  arms  easily  behind  his  back,  made  a  lightning 
voltef ace,  and  then,  daringly,  at  great  speed  for  such  figures, 
he  traced  immense  "Grape  Vines."  His  agile  rushing  form 
made  incredible  angles  with  the  ice.  Like  a  swift  in  the  air 
he  wheeled,  turned  and  swept — reversing,  careering,  spin- 
ning, darting — in  beautiful  scrolls  and  patterns  that  grew 
more  and  more  intricate — seemingly  effortless — but  were  ever 
exceedingly  graceful.  Then  with  flickering  skates,  in  an 
abandon  and  furore  of  wonderful  rapid  spirals  and  eddies 
of  all  sizes,  he  drew  nearer  and  nearer  to  his  wife,  and  Ted 
in  ecstasy  cried — 

"Look  out !  mother !   He's  doing  the  'Water  Spout !'  " 

Clinton  raised  his  arms  fully,  threw  back  his  head  and 
spun  violently,  the  nebulous  pillar  of  his  body  oscillating 
rhythmically  and  moving  on  in  a  smaller  and  a  smaller  whirl 
— ice  powder  and  a  rushing  sound  rose  from  his  skates — until 
his  indistinguishable  blades  made  one  solid  flashing  in  the 
sun,  and  then  suddenly  there  was  no  sound,  and  with  hands 
poised,  he  was  seen  floating  towards  Agnes  on  the  same  grace- 
ful, curious  tandem-glide  by  which  he  had  commenced  his 
beautiful,  swift,  and  accomplished  figures. 

Energetic  clapping  of  hands  and  loud  shouts  of  "Bravo! 


70 

Bravo!  Encore!"  broke  from  the  spectators,  and  Clinton, 
standing  by  Agnes,  turned  round,  panting  a  little,  smiling 
rather  sardonically  at  himself,  and  bowed  twice  to  the  people 
on  the  ice. 

Kirk  had  not  before  had  the  opportunity  to  learn  skating. 
Winters  at  both  Mead  Wells  and  Severnly  were  mild.  Se- 
vere frost  was  needful  to  give  bearing-ice  on  their  deep 
waters,  and  last  year  there  had  been  two  days  only  of  skat- 
ing ;  in  which  Ted  learned  a  good  deal,  but  Kirk  at  that  time 
had  a  sprained  knee.  To-day,  Mr.  Clinton  undertook  Kirk's 
tuition.  The  boy  walked  nearly  a  mile  over  the  snow,  to 
the  quiet  and  smaller  end  of  the  lake,  and  there  put  on 
his  skates,  and  soon  descried  his  father  and  the  occupied 
chair-sledge  he  propelled,  coming  down  the  lake  like  the  wind. 
In  front  of  Clinton,  on  this  light  sleigh,  sat  his  wife,  well 
wrapped  up  in  splendid  Russian  sables. 

Clinton  now  took  his  boy  in  hand.  He  readjusted  a  skate, 
took  Kirk  out  on  to  the  ice,  and  in  a  few  clear  sentences, 
spoken  slowly  and  repeated  twice,  he  explained  the  prin- 
ciple of  simple  forward  skating,  of  balance,  of  correct  posi- 
tions for  the  feet  and  heels  and  head  and  arms.  He  then 
retired  a  dozen  yards  and  ordered  Kirk,  "Now,  begin." 

Extreme  crossness  and  contempt  greeted  every  error,  every 
painful  fall.  No  time  was  given  to  rub  acutely  aching  knees 
or  hips.  The  cutting  sarcasm  and  quietly  rough  speech 
roused  fierce  and  silent  resentment  in  Kirk.  He  did  not  feel 
the  pain  of  falls.  Acutely  stimulated,  he  boldly  did  what 
he  was  told.  He  fell,  sprawled,  scrambled  up,  succeeded, 
failed  again  and  fell,  got  up  and  tried  again,  went  better, 
better,  too  quick,  another  severe  fall !  up  again !  and  heard  his 
father's  hard,  clarion  voice, 

"Why  will  you  not  obey  me?    Keep  the  heels  down!" 

Then  more  careful  work,  and  now  he  was  actually  skat- 
ing! twenty  good  strokes,  then  bump  again!  on  the  same 
knee.  Up  again!  A  hundred  yards  this  time!  Too  much 
speed — bump — bump !  Mrs.  Clinton  did  not  say  a  word,  but 


THE    BOKN    FOOL  71 

she  could  not  bear  to  stay  and  look  on,  and  as  Ted  skated 
away  with  her  she  had  tears  in  her  eyes,  but  in  her  heart 
a  great  secret  pride  in  her  boy's  fortitude. 

By-and-by  the  bruised  Kirk  skated  to  her  and  beside  her, 
full  of  exultation. 

"Look !  mother  darling !  Father  says  it's  the  quickest  he's 
ever  taught  any  one!  Oh!  isn't  it  perfect!  Let  me  push 
mother,  Ted,  there's  a  good  old  chap!" 

It  really  was  a  remarkable  performance.  It  was  due  to 
exact  obedience  and  compliance  with  his  father's  clear  scien- 
tific instruction,  and  also  to  a  certain  absolute  fearlessness 
under  excitement  that  Kirk  inherited  from  him. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

STELLA,  their  adored  baby  sister,  that  little  dark,  lovely, 
serious  child,  with  the  rare  heavenly  smile,  died  in  the 
following  autumn,  after  less  than  a  week  of  pain. 

On  the  day  of  the  funeral  Kirk  was  upstairs  making  ready 
for  the  sad  rite,  when  he  received  an  extreme  shock.  He 
heard  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  his  mother  begin  to  cry, 
overcome,  lamenting  to  herself.  The  boy — in  agony  of  mind 
— pushed  her  door  open  and  saw  her  standing  at  the  toilet 
table,  her  back  towards  him.  She  was  in  her  corset,  and  he 
beheld  his  mother's  graceful  form,  her  beautiful  arms,  neck, 
and  shoulders,  and  her  dear  head  bent  in  such  grief. 

Not  breathing  for  fear  and  pain,  he  ran  downstairs  and 
rushed  to  his  father — 

"Father!  mother's  crying  oh,  so  awfully — do  go  to  her!" 

Mr.  Clinton  hastily  went  upstairs,  and  after  a  few  minutes 
the  sound,  so  terrible  to  Kirk,  ceased,  and  he  went  into  the 
empty  morning-room,  and  wiped  his  eyes,  and  thought  blind- 
ly. This  was  his  first  personal  experience  of  great  sorrow. 

After  this,  Kirk  for  weeks  furtively  watched  his  mother, 
himself  almost  afraid  to  be  too  affectionate — for  fear  he  re- 
minded her.  But  his  mother  knew  what  was  in  his  heart. 

When  near,  he  always  threaded  her  needles  for  her,  and 
,he  undertook  eagerly  any  little  commissions.  He  sought  and 
gathered  for  her  the  first  wild  violets  and  primroses.  He 
took  endless  pains  with  anything  she  asked  him  to  do.  In 
moving  the  dining-room  furniture  a  large  white  patch  was 
scraped  in  the  dark  dado.  The  handsome,  rather  expensive 
paper  had  been  chosen  by  Mrs.  Clinton.  She  looked  at  the 

72 


THE    BOKN   FOOL  73 

blemish  with  chagrin,  and  wondered  what  could  be  done.    A 
brilliant  idea  came  to  Kirk. 

"Mother!"  exclaimed  he,  "I'll  mend  it  for  you,  you  see!" 
He  brought  pencil,  brushes,  and  his  small  water-colour 
box.  In  an  hour  he  had  drawn  in  the  pattern  and  painted 
it  so  cleverly  that  no  blemish  could  be  seen,  unless  one 
searched  closely.  His  mother  knew  why  he  had  taken  such 
pains — and  although  no  shadow  of  favoritism  was  ever 
shown  by  her,  yet  she  knew  how  he  revered  her;  she  alone 
knew  how  the  passionate,  critical  boy  restrained  himself  for 
her  sake — and  between  them  grew  an  ardent,  silent  love — 
very  understanding  and  deep  in  a  boy  of  fifteen. 

Mrs.  Clinton,  in  the  spring,  was  ordered  change  of  air 
and  scene.  Her  husband  was  anxious  about  her  drooping 
health,  and  insisted  upon  a  specialist's  opinion.  This  man 
advised  complete  absence  from  her  husband  and  Severnly. 
She  must  go  to  a  lively  place,  and  meet  as  many  fresh  people 
as  possible.  He  was  very  positive,  and  Clinton  acquiesced. 
Before  things  were  settled,  Alice  Athorpe  wrote,  pressing 
Agnes  to  come  and  spend  the  London  season  with  her.  To 
this  the  specialist  agreed,  saying  it  was  just  the  thing.  Clin- 
ton was  not  on  very  good  terms  with  his  wife's  aunt.  He  and 
she  were  rather  too  temperamentally  alike.  Both  were  too 
positive,  and,  like  positive  nodes,  they  repelled  each  other. 
Clinton  had  preserved  for  years  a  feeling  of  enmity  against 
Mrs.  Athorpe,  dating  from  that  time  when  she  had  quietly  op- 
posed his  love  for  Agnes.  Her  husband,  uncle  to  Agnes,  was 
now  long  dead,  and  had  left  her  very  wealthy.  Clinton 
had  battled  later  with  Mrs.  Athorpe  over  the  conversion  of 
his  wife.  He  was  not  very  satisfied  about  the  proposed  visit. 
He  did  not  realise  that  Alice  Athorpe  was  far  too  good, 
frank,  benevolent,  and  noble-minded  a  woman  to  attempt 
to  criticise  or  disparage  him  to  his  wife.  But  Clinton  did 
know  that  his  wife  had  always  greatly  enjoyed  visits  to 
Inverness  Terrace;  he  was  well  aware  that  Agnes  was  her 


74  THE   BORN   FOOL 

favourite  niece,  and  that  they  were  very  fond  of  each  other ; 
so  he  fell  in  with  the  new  proposal. 

Mary  accompanied  her  mother,  and  a  little  later,  in  the 
Easter  holidays,  the  two  boys  had  a  royal  fortnight  in  town 
— under  the  auspices  of  the  splendid  old  lady,  who  sent  them 
forth  each  morning  with  their  curly  heads  full  of  instruc- 
tions, and  their  pockets  full  of  money,  the  sole  law  of  the 
Medes  and  Persians  being  their  punctual  return  in  good  time 
for  dinner.  With  mother  they  went  to  their  first  theatre, 
and  saw  the  Mikado;  and  Kirk  lived  in  paradise.  The  long 
railway  journeys  there  and  back — by  themselves — were  not 
the  least  of  the  pleasures  of  the  boys. 

May  and  June  were  very  hot  that  year,  and  when  Mrs. 
Clinton  returned  she  still  looked  over-transparent  and  very 
delicate. 

In  August  the  family  went  to  the  coast  of  Cardigan,  to 
Abermawr,  a  place  they  had  once  before  visited.  Abermawr 
provided  beautiful  mountain  scenery,  good  air  and  sea-bath- 
ing, trout  and  salmon  fishing  for  Mr.  Clinton,  and  safe 
sands  and  delights  for  all  the  children.  Abermawr,  with  its 
great  wooden  bridge,  the  far-famed  estuary,  the  ring  of  moun- 
tains, the  black  cattle  on  the  golden  sands,  was  a  quiet  un- 
known place  in  those  days. 

Kirk  had  been  away  from  school  during  the  last  month  of 
that  summer  term.  Apparently  quite  well,  he  had,  upon  a 
hot  holiday  in  July,  gone  a  very  long  tramp,  but  he  dragged 
himself  back  at  sundown  in  a  state  of  great  exhaustion.  Dur- 
ing the  night  he  was  seized  with  a  strange,  sudden  illness,  and 
before  morning  he  was  delirious,  with  a  very  high  tempera- 
ture. 

His  mother  nursed  him  night  and  day.  Never  would  he 
forget  her  cool,  gentle  hands,  her  dear  hands,  as  she  at- 
tended him,  and  put  wet  muslins  on  his  burning  head. 

In  quite  a  few  days  the  boy  was  out  of  bed,  but  very  pale 
and  weak.  The  family  doctor  was  a  clever  man,  but  was 


THE   BORN    FOOL  75 

much  puzzled,  and  informed  Mrs.  Clinton  that  the  nearest 
malady  he  could  think  of  was  slight  meningitis,  accelerated 
by  Kirk's  over-exertion  in  the  sun ;  and  he  asked  if  the  boy 
had  been  reading  or  working  too  much  ?  They  decided  Kirk 
should  miss  the  last  three  weeks  of  the  term. 

Mr.  Clinton,  Ted,  Mary,  and  the  maid,  returned  to 
Severnly  looking  brown  and  well,  but  Mrs.  Clinton  with  Kirk 
remained  at  the  seaside  for  another  two  weeks.  Those  were 
fourteen  days  that  Kirk  never  forgot  during  the  rest  of  his 
life.  His  mother  read  Tennyson  to  him,  and  he  and  she  went 
delicious  walks  together,  in  that  noble  scenery  that  stirred 
the  boy  so  mightily,  and  they  made  several  incomparable 
boating  trips  across  the  estuary  to  Arthog.  They  were  rowed 
there — with  the  help  of  Kirk  at  the  tiller — by  an  honest  old 
sea-captain,  who  lived  in  a  wee  white  cottage  high  upon  the 
rugged  mountains  that  descend  at  Abermawr.  Agnes  Clinton 
and  her  boy  showed  each  other  all  their  love,  and  Kirk  was 
happy  and  entranced  as  a  lover  with  the  beloved.  Of  this 
mother  and  son  it  might  have  been  said  also  with  some  truth : 
"We  see  things  with  the  same  eyes ;  what  you  find  lovely,  I 
find  lovely ;  God  has  made  our  souls  of  one  piece." 

Besides  his  mother's  influence,  the  church,  his  father's 
effect,  heredity  of  lineage,  the  life  at  school,  and  the  pe- 
culiarly rich  heavy-timbered  countryside — there  were  other 
powers  moulding  Kirk's  innate  separate  character  while  yet 
it  remained  pliant. 

Kirk  had  a  friend,  Mr.  Cecil,  of  the  Severnly  Library.  The 
boy  shared  the  old  man's  love  for  flowers.  Behind  the  build- 
ings of  aged  yellow  stone  was  a  large  garden,  so  quaint  and 
sweet  as  to  be  comparable  with  that  at  Mead  Wells. 

When  Kirk  was  eleven  he  had  first  looked  through  this 
library  window,  seen  a  peep  of  flowers,  and  exclaimed — 

"Oh !  you've  got  woolly-wort !" 

"Why,  so  I  have,  young  sir." 


76  THE   BORN    FOOL 

"Might  I  please  have  a  bit,  Mr.  Cecil?  a  little  root — I 
want  it  for  some  one,  very  much." 

"What!  What!  What!  young  man?" 

"Only  for  my  mother,"  said  Kirk,  softly,  and  going  a  little 
red.  The  old  man  keenly  looked  at  him  before  he  spoke. 

"Why,  so  you  shall,  so  you  shall." 

He  began  slowly  moving  round  the  counter,  leaving  in 
charge  his  somewhat  brow-beaten  assistant ;  and  that  morning 
Kirk  and  Mr.  Cecil  became  fast  friends.  The  boy  proudly 
took  home  a  regal  bouquet  of  many  flowers  from  the  old  man's 
greenhouses;  also  some  love-in-a-mist,  and  a  good  root  of 
woolly  woundwort. 

This  affection  for  flowers  gave  Kirk  unexpected  friends. 
By  some  means  he  was  on  great  terms  with  the  Earl  of 
Severnly's  horticulturist — a  decayed  Scots  Master  of  Arts, 
who  ruled  over  certain  magnificent,  tropical  greenhouses.  And 
then,  too,  there  was  a  dear  old  maiden  lady  who  lived  at 
Woodlandf ording,  six  miles  away,  among  immemorial  meads 
and  forest-lands,  that  sloped  down  to  where  the  shining  river 
dreamed  through  rich  meadows.  Kirk  had  a  written  per- 
mission to  roam  her  estates,  and  specific  leave  to  gather  white 
violets  in  a  certain  pine-wood.  He  was  chary  and  wise  of 
over-visiting,  and  went  but  thrice  a  year,  and  by  agreement 
took  tea  solemnly  and  on  his  best  behaviour  with  the  soli- 
tary old  lady,  and  was  served  by  a  real  hereditary  footman 
in  a  very  grand  old  historic  house. 

Mr.  Cecil  refused  books  if  he  thought  them  not  good  for 
the  boy  or  girl  who  asked  for  them.  Even  at  twenty  years, 
many  were  still  boys  and  girls  in  his  old  eyes.  If  they  asked 
for  books  of  which  he  disapproved,  he  first  regarded  these 
young  persons  severely  from  above  his  spectacles,  then 
through  his  spectacles;  and  then  he  would  ramble  off,  and 
having  made  a  long  mock-search,  he  would  return,  look  at 
them  fixedly,  and  announce  gently,  "Not  in."  If  it  were 
Kirk,  he  would  produce  some  other  book,  and  add — 


THE    BOKN    FOOL  77 

"But  read  this,  Master  Clinton.  Beautiful  I^nglish,  beau- 
tiful book  ...  do  you  good." 

"Oh,  all  right,  thank  you  so  much,  Mr.  Cecil,"  Kirk 
would  reply,  and  then  perhaps  ask  him — 

"How  are  the  greenhouses  ?" 

"Too  busy  now  .  .  .  too  busy  .  .  .  but  come  round 
this  evening  .  .  .  new  Alopecuris  sphixiata  retro flexa 
.  .  .  just  out  this  morning  .  .  .  lovely  thing  .  .  .  you 
shall  see  it.  At  six  o'clock,  please.  .  .  .  My  kindest  re- 
gards to  your  mother." 

Mr.  Cecil  chose  books  carefully  for  Kirk,  and  often  gave 
him  gentle  reprimands  and  hints  that  his  speed  was  far,  far 
too  great.  "Can't  remember  it  all  if  you  read  like  that, 
young  man."  But  Kirk  combated  these  checks  by  stating 
an  inventory  of  the  book  he  had  returned — the  old  man  listen- 
ing gravely,  sometimes  making  sound  or  learned  comments, 
often  a  little  beyond  Kirk's  mind,  but  not  beyond  his  deep 
respect  and  thirst  to  know. 

Kirk  for  years  had  felt  an  increasing  unconscious  pleasure 
in  Sundays  when  stress  of  weather  or  other  hindrances  pre- 
vented the  weekly  visit  to  Salbury,  for  then  the  Clintons 
went  to  Church  of  England  service  at  Severnly  Abbey. 

All  those  years  of  Gregorian  chanting  had  disciplined  his 
musical  ear  to  reject  anything  but  the  best.  That  music  of 
the  Apostolic  Church  was  so  pure,  so  classic,  so  clear;  but 
it  was  chastened  by  extreme  coldness  and  austerity,  even 
when  joyful;  hence,  and  for  other  reasons  that  became 
stronger,  Kirk  always  had  been  delighted  secretly  when  cir- 
cumstances made  the  family  attend  the  Abbey  service.  The 
immense  organ  was  two  centuries  old.  It  filled  entirely  the 
west  end  of  the  abbey.  The  glorious  music  from  this  great 
and  mellowed  instrument  specially  filled  Kirk  with  ecstasy, 
and  had  done  so  since  he  first  heard  it  as  a  boy  of  nine.  One 
entered  the  Abbey  from  the  west  and  passed  beneath  the 
gallery  of  the  organ.  Looking  behind  and  up,  one  saw  the 
dark  wood  of  the  long  gallery,  wonderfully  carved  with 


78  THE    BORN   FOOL 

groups  of  old  viols  and  cellos,  bassoons  and  drums,  trumpets 
and  pipes,  all  in  such  high  relief  as  to  seem  really  sheafed 
and  bound  there  by  the  flowing  ribbons  carved  around  them. 
The  great  chords  and  storm-sounds  of  the  diapason  shook 
Kirk  to  his  soul;  and  when  he  was  still  a  child,  the  silvery 
voices  of  the  host  of  martial  pipes  had  made  him  fly  across 
the  heaven  of  his  imagination,  naked,  shouting,  and  brandish- 
ing a  spear. 

For  Kirk  was  English  in  his  heart's  core,  and  to  him  the 
Apostolic  Church  was  now  beginning  to  appear  as  a  religion 
that  was  young,  weak,  despised,  and  lowly,  amid  the  over- 
towering  traditions,  the  great  fanes,  the  glorious  works  of 
stone  that  stood  filled  with  the  memories  of  ancient  England 
— the  cathedrals  and  the  abbeys  filled  with  great  solemnity, 
and  standing  in  strength  like  vast  oaks  of  the  old  forests. 
Kirk  loved  increasingly  the  past,  the  ancient,  the  strong,  and 
the  enduring. 

Above  him,  crossed  on  the  naked  stonework  of  the  soaring 
walls,  his  eyes  had  dwelt  often  upon  the  bloody  gauzy  silks 
brought  back  from  terrible  Isandlwana;  there,  all  fearfully 
torn  and  stained,  they  hung  in  memory  of  the  heroic  dead 
English;  and  from  childhood  to  boyhood  he  had  looked  at 
them  always  with  a  deep  reverence  and  excitement. 

In  the  high,  purple-stoned  chancel,  the  forms  of  noble 
men  in  armour  lay  by  their  dames  and  great  ladies,  and  far 
above  them  spouted  the  exquisite  groining  of  the  roof. 

Behind  him  the  boy  could  feel  the  presence  of  the  fiery 
beautiful  poet,  looking  from  his  pure  marble,  with  lion-like 
eyes,  the  lips  exquisite,  calm,  and  balanced  in  superb  thought. 
Always,  after  service,  as  he  went  slowly  down  the  crowded 
aisle  to  the  western  exit,  he  had  gazed  at  this  face. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  Easter  holidays  were  again  approaching;  it  was 
the  middle  of  a  week,  when,  at  eleven  o'clock  in  the 
forenoon,  a  knock  came  at  the  class-room  door,  and  the  old 
dignified  school  porter,  his  breast  decorated  with  a  row  of 
medals,  brought  in  a  note  to  Kirk's  form  master,  who  read 
it  gravely,  beckoned  to  Kirk,  and  then  said  in  a  low  tone — 

"Your  mother  is  ill,  Clinton;  they  want  you  at  home, 
you  can  go  now." 

Kirk's  face  went  deathly  pale,  and  he  left  the  room. 

This  incident  had  been  preceded  by  a  painful  week.  The 
Clinton  household  had  been  upset — doctors  had  come  and 
gone,  two  professional  nurses  were  living  in  the  house.  Mrs. 
Clinton  had  been  seriously  ill  for  three  weeks.  On  the  Sun- 
day evening  she  had,  however,  rallied  wonderfully,  miracu- 
lously it  seemed  to  her  husband.  The  "Laying  on  of  hands" 
and  the  "Anointing"  had  by  her  wish  taken  place  that  after- 
noon; and,  on  Monday,  the  boys  went  back  to  school  with 
lighter  hearts.  Kirk  could  not,  dare  not,  imagine  the  actual 
possibility  of  his  mother's  death. 

On  the  night  of  their  second  recall  from  school  the  two 
brothers  slept  at  a  neighbouring  house — a  sympathetic  ar- 
rangement made  by  one  of  Mrs.  Clinton's  more  intimate 
friends,  for  their  own  home  was  too  upset;  the  nurses  took 
up  a  bedroom,  and,  in  addition,  Mrs.  Athorpe,  in  haste  and 
anxiety,  had  arrived  the  week  previous,  and  was  staying  at 
the  "Gates"  with  her  old  maid. 

Next  morning,  while  Ted,  Kirk,  and  Mary  were  together 
in  the  morning-room,  their  father  entered  and  closed  the  door 
behind  him.  His  face  looked  aged  and  wrinkled,  his  eyes 
were  red,  wide  open,  and  despairing.  He  almost  raved — 

79 


80 

"Oh !  your  dear  mother ;  kneel  down,  all  of  you ;  her  beau- 
tiful limbs,  she  has  no  more  use  in  them.  Oh!  she  was  al- 
ways so  pure  .  .  ."  and  fresh  tears  streamed  down  the 
man's  face,  while  Kirk  began  breathing  quickly  and  faintly 
— for  an  awful  fear  now  held  him.  He,  too,  prayed  to  God 
as  he  had  never  before  prayed. 

Their  father  soon  left  them — Ted  and  Mary  both  crying, 
Kirk  utterly  overcome.  The  March  wind  and  rain  never 
ceased  violently  pressing  and  drumming  on  the  streaming 
window-panes.  An  hour  later  Alice  Athorpe  came  down  to 
the  children.  She  was  a  tower  of  strength,  and  her  strong 
beautiful  old  face  was  quite  calm. 

"Ted,  dear,  your  mother  wants  to  speak  to  you ;  you  must 
be  very  quiet."  They  left  the  room.  After  a  few  minutes 
she  returned  alone,  and  now  she  also  was  crying.  "Kirk, 
my  dear  boy,  will  you  come  now  ?" 

He  followed  her  up  the  broad  stairs  of  the  house ;  his  aunt 
took  him  past  people  on  the  big  landing — a  professional  nurse, 
and  poor  old  faithful  Jane  standing  there  mutely,  and  others 
he  did  not  know  or  notice.  Strange  tables  and  chairs  and 
things  were  avoided,  and  before  Mrs.  Athorpe  opened  the 
door,  she  said,  "Don't  give  way,  Kirk,  be  brave."  She  ad- 
mitted him,  and  herself  remained  outside. 

The  ordered  room  was  quite  still,  and  here  the  wind  made 
no  noise.  A  bright  fire  gleamed  on  the  old  and  elegant  furni- 
ture. 

Kirk  stood,  then  knelt  down  beside  his  mother,  to  be  near 
her  and  hear  her  faint  words ;  she  seemed  to  be  so  sunk  down 
into  the  large,  low  bed.  Her  pallid  face  shone  with  per- 
spiration, her  lips  were  blue ;  she  had  too  plainly  greatly  suf- 
fered. But  her  grey  eyes  were  so  steadfast,  sweet,  and  so 
earnest  as  she  looked  at  him  lovingly.  Kirk  kissed  her  most 
gently,  and  she  smiled  very  slowly  and  closed  her  eyes;  she 
spoke  so  faintly  that  Kirk  held  his  breath,  and  leaned  his 
head  down  very  close  to  her. 

"My   dearest  .  .  .  boy  .  .  .  Kirk  .  .  .  dear  .  .  .  where 


THE    BOKN    FOOL  81 

is  your  hand?"  whispered  she.  "Father  .  .  .  never  desert 
him  .  .  .  promise  me,  dear." 

"I  promise,  mother"  .  .  .  she  could  scarcely  see  him. 

"You  will  never,  desert  him,  dear  ?" 

"]STo,  mother.    ~No,  no." 

"Take  care  of  Mary  and  Ted ;  help  them,  for  my  sake." 

"I  will,  mother."  " 

"Always  be  pure,  dear,  for  my  sake  .  .  .  dear,  you  will 
never,  forget  me  ?" 

"Mother!    Mother!" 

And  now  his  own  tears  rained  down,  and  he  swallowed, 
and  swallowed  them  back,  and  hastily  wiped  his  face  on  a 
corner  of  the  sheet ;  but  his  mother's  eyes  were  still  closed. 

"Good-bye ;  put  your  arms,  round  my,  neck,  Kirk." 

He  kissed  her,  very,  very  gently,  she  was  so  exhausted,  and 
her  eyes  remained  closed.  He  heard  the  door  open,  but  could 
not  look  round.  Mrs.  Athorpe  came  and  whispered  to  him. 
She  took  his  hand.  "You  must  leave  her  now,  dear,  she 
wishes  to  see  Mary." 

That  evening  Agnes  Clinton  again  rallied,  and  at  a  quarter 
to  eleven  the  two  overwrought  boys  went  away  with  renewed 
hope,  and  slept  at  their  neighbour's  home.  They  awoke  at 
six  o'clock  next  morning  and  soon  hastened  towards  the 
"Gates."  When  near  home  they  met  the  boot-boy.  He  stopped 
and  spoke  to  Kirk — 

"Your  mother's  dead,  Master  Kirk." 

"No.    No,  she's  not!" 

"She  is  dead,  Master  Kirk." 

Kirk  struck  him  for  saying  such  a  thing,  and  ran  on 
trembling,  and  inwardly  moaning. 

Yes,  she  was  dead. 


CHAPTER  X 

IN  the  summer  holidays  Kirk  received  an  invitation  to 
spend  a  month  at  a  Mrs.  Nugent' s  home.  Her  letters  to 
Kirk  and  his  father  arrived  on  a  Tuesday.  Kirk  hoped 
earnestly  that  he  might  be  allowed  to  go ;  for  these  past  four 
months  at  the  "Gates"  had  been  very  sad,  and  his  father  re- 
mained in  a  morose  and  broken  state  of  mind.  Mr.  Clinton's 
eccentricities  had  greatly  increased.  Lately  he  had  inter- 
dicted bacon  on  Sunday  mornings.  It  was  not  fitting  to  eat 
the  flesh  of  an  unclean  animal  prior  to  partaking  of  Holy 
Communion.  For  some  strange  reason  he  had  insisted  on 
the  boys'  "washing"  being  put  into  his  own  wardrobes  in- 
stead of  into  their  usual  place  in  Ted's  and  Kirk's  rooms. 
Each  morning  they  had  to  stand  outside  his  door  and  ask 
for  a  collar,  or  whatever  they  might  want,  and  often  they  had 
to  wait.  Ted  took  this  philosophically,  but  Kirk  was  much 
annoyed.  Yet,  because  of  pity  for  his  father  and  his  own 
deep  dejection,  he  said  nothing. 

Kirk  slept  in  a  room  next  to  Mr.  Clinton,  and  to-night  he 
awoke  and  heard  his  father  walking  to  and  fro  in  his  bed- 
room, speaking  to  himself,  and  mourning  terribly.  These 
faint  sounds  in  the  night  persisted  for  over  an  hour.  At 
length  Kirk  left  his  bed  and  pressed  his  ear  to  the  wall.  He 
could  distinguish  some  of  his  father's  words.  He  longed  to 
alleviate  this  sorrow,  though  he  himself  shared  it  silently 
and  acutely ;  but  he  knew  he  could  do  nothing.  He  must  wake 
Mary  and  ask  her  to  go  to  father.  Since  their  mother's  death 
Mary  had  again  become  her  father's  favourite.  Kirk  wak- 
ened his  sister. 

Mary  knocked  at  her  father's  door,  and  waited,  standing 

82 


THE    BOKN    FOOL  83 

in  her  little  dressing  gown,  her  glossy  dark  hair  curling  on 
her  shoulders,  and  after  a  time  she  gained  admittance.  Her 
brother  stood  about  in  his  room.  No  sounds  came  through 
the  wall,  nor  did  he  put  his  ear  to  it.  He  surmised  that  Mary 
was  on  her  father's  knee,  her  arms  round  his  neck,  comfort- 
ing and  soothing  him,  just  as  Kirk  had  chanced  to  see  her 
do  a  week  or  two  after  the  funeral. 

Mr.  Clinton  had  received  Mrs.  Nugent's  letter  with  lan- 
guid doubt.  He  thought  it  not  right  to  separate  the  mem- 
bers of  a  family  on  the  Lord's  Day.  But  then,  he  consid- 
ered Mrs.  Nugent  had  been  his  wife's  friend,  and  she  and  her 
daughters  were  members  of  the  Salbury  Church.  They  lived 
in  a  good  house  in  the  best  part  of  that  old  town,  famous 
for  brine-baths.  Socially  Mrs.  Nugent  was  perhaps  a  little 
higher,  certainly  more  important  and  wealthy,  than  had  been 
her  friend  Agnes  Clinton.  Kirk  had  been  a  favourite  with 
her.  She  disagreed  with  Mr.  Clinton's  ways  and  notions, 
but  she  never  spoke  of  these  things  to  Kirk.  Her  two  daugh- 
ters were  home  from  France,  where  they  were  being  edu- 
cated. Her  boy  Dick,  intended  for  the  Army,  was  also  at 
home.  He  and  Kirk  had  been  school  friends  for  a  year. 
They  were  rather  too  daring  and  mischievous  when  together, 
for  they  emulated  each  other  in  adventure.  There  had  been 
trouble  three  years  ago  when  Kirk  and  Dick  were  discovered 
walking  boldly  and  quickly  in  rubber  pumps,  round  the 
verges  of  the  high  slate  roof  of  Mrs.  Nugent's  house.  There 
had  also  been  an  affair  over  cigarettes,  Dick  becoming  so 
ill  as  to  alarm  Kirk  very  much  and  send  him  to  Mrs.  Nugent 
for  assistance.  And  again,  there  had  been  a  more  disgraceful 
affair  with  a  fat  butcher  on  a  tramcar  top.  Kirk  had  made 
two  glass  pea-shooters,  of  unusual  length,  very  perfectly  em- 
bedded in  putty  between  split  bamboos,  the  latter  neatly  re- 
fitted together,  and  bound  with  waxed  thread.  These  things 
looked  like  walking-sticks.  The  boys,  with  hands  full  of  small 
wet  balls  of  putty,  sat  upon  another  tramcar  at  the  passing 


84  THE    BORN   FOOL 

place.  When  the  butcher  on  his  car  began  to  move  away,  a 
terrible  fusillade  of  hard  putty  opened  accurately  on  him. 
Trams  had  been  stopped.  A  pursuit  of  police  had  run  the 
delinquents  to  earth.  Mrs.  Nugent  had  made  the  boys  apolo- 
gise, and  for  two  days  had  put  them  "in  disgrace,"  but  she 
had  told  it  all  to  Mrs.  Clinton  as  a  secret.  Kirk,  not  know 
ing  this,  had  been  deeply  grateful  and  the  two  boys  had  made 
solemn  vows  of  reform  to  Mrs.  Nugent.  But  these  things 
were  soon  forgiven,  Agnes  and  Mrs.  Nugent  had  laughed 
together  over  them  for  each  possessed  a  keen  sense  of  hu- 
mour, and  a  mutual  understanding  of  boys. 

After  holding  Kirk  in  suspense  for  three  days,  Mr.  Clinton 
gave  him  the  desired  permission.  The  only  condition  was 
that  on  Sundays  he  must  sit  in  church  with  his  own  family. 

Maud  Nugent  was  nearly  eighteen,  and  a  graceful  tall  girl, 
and  Kirk  was  a  slim  hardy  boy  of  fifteen.  She  was  a  sweet- 
minded,  rather  serious  girl,  very  frank  and  sensible,  yet 
often  dreamy.  Mrs.  Nugent  and  Kirk  loved  to  hear  her  play 
and  sing  little  French  songs.  On  re-meeting  Kirk  Maud 
was  at  once  struck  by  the  marked  change  in  his  manner ;  he 
was  become  so  much  more  serious  and  reserved.  Dick,  too, 
had  grown  much  and  had  changed  much ;  and  this  time  each 
boy  paired  off  with  one  of  the  girls;  Kirk  with  Maud,  and 
Dick  with  his  favourite  sister,  Isobel,  a  girl  one  year  older 
than  himself. 

Instinctively  no  mention  of  his  mother  was  made  to  Kirk, 
but  one  day  in  Salbury,  when  Maud  and  Kirk  were  walking 
near  the  station,  they  met  a  friend  of  the  Clintons,  just  ar- 
rived from  distant  parts.  He  knew  Kirk  and  stopped  him, 
apologised  to  Miss  Nugent,  who  stood  by,  and  exclaimed — 

"Dear  me!  Kirk!  how  amazingly  you've  grown!  And 
how's  your  father?" 

"Quite  well,  thank  you,  Mr.  Brennan." 

"And,  Kirk,  how's  your  mother  ?" 

Kirk's  mouth  and  face  worked  severely,  then  tears  rushed 
into  his  eyes  and  he  turned  sharply  and  walked  away  fast 


THE    BOEN    FOOL  85 

and  went  down  a  quiet  street.  There  he  controlled  himself, 
wiped  his  eyes,  and  in  a  few  minutes  returned  ashamedly 
and  met  Maud.  After  a  word  to  Mr.  Brennan  she  had  hastily 
followed  Kirk.  They  did  not  speak  when  they  met,  but 
went  a  long  walk  into  the  country,  and  presently  Maud  took 
Kirk's  arm;  she  felt  very  motherly  towards  him.  Himself 
he  felt  weak,  and  ashamed,  but  much  comforted  by  her. 

After  this  Kirk  and  Maud  became  very  friendly.  Picnics 
were  frequent,  the  four  young  people  being  sent  off  by  Mrs. 
Nugent  nearly  every  day;  and  Kirk,  so  well  knowing  the 
countryside,  chose  the  ways,  and  took  them  to  all  his  sweet- 
est and  most  secluded  woodland  places.  He  and  Maud  often 
sketched  together,  while  Dick  obeyed  Isobel,  whose  hobby  was 
botany;  and  these  days  were  very  charming  for  them  all. 
Maud  gradually  make  Kirk  talk  of  his  mother,  and  these 
two  were  never  bored,  and  exchanged  ideas  for  hours  on  art, 
music,  books,  poetry,  religion  and  similar  mighty  subjects 
they  knew  precious  little  about. 

Kirk  knew  something  of  scientific  botany,  but  very  much 
more  about  wild  flowers;  and  with  his  minute  directions, 
Dick  and  Isobel  made  successful  side-expeditions  to  hidden 
untouched  places  known  to  Kirk,  and  they  returned  with  rare 
flowers,  wild  Canterbury  bells,  a  strange  brown  orchid,  sun- 
dew in  wet  clumps  of  pale  golden  moss,  the  spearplume 
thistle,  greater  knapweed,  golden  leopard's  bane,  wild  pansies, 
yellow  loosestrife;  also  restharrow,  and  cobalt-blue  chicory, 
both  very  rare  in  that  countryside. 

At  last  this  month  came  to  an  end. 

In  the  evening,  when  Kirk  returned  to  his  own  home,  he 
suffered  heavy  depression.  The  food  seemed  distasteful, 
the  house  cold,  gloomy,  very  sad,  and  a  feeling  of  extreme 
irreparable  want  and  loss  overcame  his  heart. 

He  looked  forward  very  much  to  seeing  the  !Nugents  each" 
Sunday,  and  talked  to  them  as  long  as  possible  after  each 
service,  especially  to  his  friend  Maud.  She  was  to  return 


86 

soon,  to  complete  her  last  year  at  school.  She  had  told  him 
the  whole  of  her  girl's  life  over  there,  of  how  they  bathed 
each  summer  morning  in  the  Meuse,  and  all  about  the 
frescoes  of  the  great  Charlemagne,  that  hero  who  so  inter- 
ested her. 

One  evening  before  the  girls  went  back  to  France,  Kirk, 
keeping  his  intentions  to  himself,  walked  over  to  Salbury 
and  cautiously  approached  their  home.  For  some  inarticu- 
late reason  he  was  too  shy  to  call :  he  passed  near  their  house, 
waited  about  a  little  and  then  reapproached.  As  he  neared 
the  house  in  the  dusk  he  saw  Maud  and  her  mother  going  to 
their  gate.  A  yearning  filled  his  heart,  and  he  stealthily 
watched  Maud's  pretty  figure  until  she  entered  the  house. 
He  walked  back  to  Severnly  without  knowing  what  so  dis- 
turbed himself. 

His  father  closely  cross-examined  him  as  to  his  absence, 
implying  a  fault,  and  Kirk  with  secret  anger  at  once  lied 
to  him  very  deliberately,  purposely  and  circumstantially,  yet 
carelessly,  and  without  the  least  feeling  of  dishonour. 

Ministers  often  dined  at  the  "Gates"  on  Sundays;  they 
came  back  from  church  with  the  Clintons — a  short  railway 
journey  of  six  miles.  After  early  tea  they  returned  to  Sal- 
bury  with  the  Clintons,  and  at  night  went  on  to  Birming- 
ham. In  that  city  was  a  large  mother-church,  with  the  full 
complement  of  ministers.  The  Salbury  congregation  was 
small  and  could  not  support  a  full  priesthood. 

Of  these  men  it  can  be  written,  they  were  clever  above  the 
average,  and  all  were  sincere,  devoted,  and  convinced  of  the 
reality  of  their  work.  Among  those  who  visited  Severnly 
were  barristers,  men  who  had  left  vicarages  and  parsonages, 
business  men  and  others  who  had  all  left  their  professions 
and  callings,  in  the  same  spirit  that  caused  four  of  the  an- 
cient Apostles  to  abandon  their  boats  and  nets.  Some  mem- 
bers of  the  Apostolic  priesthood  were  wealthy,  and  those  who 
were  not  received  stipends  sufficient  to  support  themselves  and 


THE    BORN   FOOL  87 

families.  Kirk  enjoyed  their  visits  and  listened  with  atten- 
tion to  their  conversation.  Their  views  were  so  much  wider 
and  more  beautiful  than  were  his  father's,  but  then  his  father 
was  only  a  lay-evangelist,  he  had  only  been  "called,"  whereas 
these  visitors  were  duly  ordained  prophets,  evangelists,  and 
pastors,  and  were  full  members  of  the  "Fourfold  Ministry." 
Especially  was  Kirk  friendly  with  Mr.  Saintsbury,  a  pastor. 
He  came  down  once  a  month  and  usually  dined  with  the 
Clintons.  He  was  an  artist  before  he  was  a  pastor,  and  he 
still  painted.  Kirk  thought  his  face  was  just  like  that  of 
Shakespeare,  and  he  had  never  tired  of  looking  at  the  small 
exquisite  paintings  given  to  Mrs.  Clinton  by  Saintsbury.  All 
these  pictures  possessed  depth,  and  a  great  mysticism.  They 
were  but  landscapes,  but  all  were  very  strangely  and  beauti- 
fully chosen.  One  looked  at  them  a  long  time,  and  then  again 
looked  at  them  a  long  time.  Not  even  the  ordinary  person 
said  of  them,  "How  pretty!"  Most  curious  of  all  was,  how- 
ever, to  Kirk,  the  fact  that  Mr.  Saintsbury  was  a  Fellow 
of  the  Linnsean  Society,  for  which  he  had  done  original  re- 
search in  fungi.  Kirk  brooded  over  and  respected  these  di- 
verse abilities.  Mr.  Saintsbury  was  a  dreamy,  warm-hearted 
man — often  lost  in  his  own  thought  and  vision.  He  took 
interest  in  Kirk  and  replied  to  many  of  the  questions  that 
rose  in  the  boy's  mind,  and  that  were  fruit  of  his  secret  read- 
ings of  Richard  Jefferies,  Jean  Paul  Richter,  and  the  poets ; 
or  that  rose  from  the  boy's  own  original  thinking,  and  his  in- 
nate thirst  to  know.  The  symbology  of  the  church  was  most 
satisfying  to  Kirk,  but  he  sought  symbols  in  everything,  and 
desired  to  know  the  analogies  between  all  things  spiritual 
and  material. 

He  was  told  and  believed  that  the  eagle,  the  bird  who 
soared  highest  and  looked  upon  the  sun,  was  the  symbol  of 
the  prophet;  the  "man"  of  Revelations  was  the  evangelist, 
who  reasoned  as  a  man  with  men:  the  patient  ox  treading 
out  the  corn  meant  the  humble  daily  duties  of  the  pastor. 


88  THE   BORN    FOOL 

Apostleship  was  shown  by  the  lion,  and  by  gold  and  purple, 
the  attributes  of  rulership. 

Mr.  Saintsbury  replied  freely  to  all  questions  up  to  a  cer- 
tain point,  but  recently  when  Kirk,  full  of  emotional  thought 
and  imagination,  had  asked  him,  "Then  what  do  trees  mean  ? 
What  are  trees?"  he  replied,  with  some  hesitation,  "Trees, 
Kirk,  are  men.  You  seek,  Kirk,  at  your  age,  to  know  too 
much  of  the  inner  meaning  of  everything,  but  there  are  very 
many  mysteries  into  which  we  must  not  inquire  with  our 
finite  minds.  'Canst  thou  by  searching  find  out  God  ?'  You 
must  accept  the  fact  that  the  wisdom  of  God  is  greater  than 
the  wisdom  of  men.  God  is  a  spirit.  I  warn  you,  Kirk,  par- 
ticularly, that  those  who  do  not  accept  the  word  of  God — 
put  into  the  mouth  of  his  priests — such  men  of  a  certain 
temperament  become  mystics;  men  living  in  dreams,  in  a 
fool's  paradise.  It  becomes  a  form  of  madness  if  given  way 
to.  It  is  an  over-indulgence  of  the  imagination,  and  goes 
frequently  with  another  serious  error — pride  of  intellect. 
You  must  curb  yourself,  Kirk ;  I  think  this  is  a  danger  that 
you  will  have  to  fight  against,  my  dear  boy ;  I  think  you  will 
have  to  fight  for  your  faith;  I  will  always  be  glad  to  talk 
with  you  on  these  things,  and  I  will  ask  Mr.  Gurney  to  see 
you — some  special  word  may  be  given  him  to  say  to  you." 

Mr.  Gurney  wore  the  blue-lined  cassock  of  a  prophet. 
In  later  years  Kirk  considered  him  to  be  a  man  possessing 
a  pure  and  high  clairvoyance,  but,  also,  Kirk  later  consid- 
ered him  to  be,  like  his  fellows,  living  solely  in  one  great 
specialised  thought-form  or  mind-country — that  of  the  Apos- 
tolic Church.  Kirk,  later  in  life,  decided  that  most  men 
were  born  into  one  of  the  vast  permanent  forms  of  human 
thought,  just  as  they  were  born  in  certain  countries  and  cli- 
mates. The  Roman  Catholic  religion  he  regarded  as  he 
did  an  ancient  city,  one  full  of  antiquity,  of  tortuous  and 
narrow  streets,  worn  pavements,  beauty  of  old  age,  majestic 
decay. 


CHAPTER  XI 

ARLY  two  years  had  passed  since  Mrs.  Clinton's 
death.  Of  late,  her  eldest  son  had  disputed  many 
times  with  his  father,  chiefly  over  want  of  clothes  and  money, 
deliberate  non-payment  of  school  fees  and  bills,  and  now,  since 
Ted  had  left  school,  over  continual  procrastination  in  mat- 
ters of  his  future  career,  and  especially  had  there  been  trou- 
ble over  offensive  restrictions  and  distrust — such  as  the  harsh 
order  Mr.  Clinton  gave,  that  Ted,  though  aged  eighteen, 
never  was  to  be  out-of-doors,  under  any  circumstances  what- 
soever, after  nine-thirty  at  night.  Ted,  a  great  lover  and 
keeper  of  animals,  a  natural  good  shot  with  a  gun,  was  of  an 
obstinate  but  open,  affectionate,  truthful,  just,  and  truly 
religious  nature.  Severe  friction  with  his  father  became 
frequent,  though  Ted  invariably  was  respectful. 

Kirk  had  escaped  open  quarrels  with  his  father.  He 
thought  in  secret,  read  in  secret  books  his  father  would  have 
forbidden  or  burnt:  he  disobeyed  in  secret,  and  obeyed 
stoically  when  it  was  unavoidable.  As  regards  school  fees 
and  expenses  he  had  gone  to  the  Head-master,  quietly  ex- 
plained his  father's  character,  and  asked  the  Head  to  dun 
his  father  for  the  school-fees.  If  it  were  done  sufficiently, 
said  he,  they  would  be  paid;  it  was  not  a  case  of  want  of 
money.  His  father  was  fairly  well-to-do.  He  mentioned 
that  his  father  spent  much  money  on  foolish,  useless  things. 
He  was  doing  all  right  in  his  practice.  He  had  lately  in- 
creased his  staff.  It  was  .  .  .  well,  a  strange  eccentricity,  a 
selfishness  .  .  .  since  mother  died. 

Doctor  Hawke  was  somewhat  shocked.  All  he  had  said 
was :  "I'm  grieved  to  hear  this,  Clinton.  I  think  your  father 
must  have  greatly  felt  your  mother's  death.  It  often  alters 
a  man  very  much.  I'm  very  sorry,  very  sorry  indeed,"  and 

89 


90  THE    BOKN    FOOL 

Kirk  had  replied  philosophically,  "It  can't  be  helped,  sir. 
Good  morning,  sir,"  and  bowed  himself  out  of  the  study.  His 
advice  was  taken. 

Kirk  had  soon  ceased  to  ask  his  father  for  anything.  He 
began  to  make  a  little  money  for  himself  in  various  ways, 
chiefly  by  the  sale  of  geological  duplicates,  and  by  rearing 
and  training  for  sale  young  magpies,  jackdaws,  hawks,  and 
owls,  in  which  artificial  nurture  he  was  an  expert.  He  had 
also,  at  the  instance  of  a  friendly  county  councillor,  eagerly 
agreed  to  name,  label,  and  rearrange  two  neglected  collec- 
tions of  fossils  in  neighbouring  towns,  and  for  this  work  he 
received  good  payment.  At  the  last  meeting  of  the  county 
horticultural  society,  Kirk  also  carried  off  the  first  prize  for 
a  bouquet  of  wild  flowers.  This  was  a  very  popular  contest. 
Ten  prizes  in  money  were  each  year  distributed  among  the 
hundred  or  more  competitors.  The  bouquets  were  judged 
upon  two  chief  points — variety  or  rarity  of  flowers,  and 
beauty  of  arrangement.  A  certificate  that  gathering  and 
arrangement  would  be  done  personally  was  signed  by  each 
rival  at  the  time  of  entry.  Kirk  also  had  received  first  prize 
for  a  named  collection  of  wild  flowers.  In  order  that  his 
should  be  the  freshest  and  the  finest  he  had  been  out  on  that 
day  from  2  a.m.,  gathering  the  most  delicate  and  fragile  of 
the  flowers,  and,  to  accomplish  this,  he  had  covered  on  foot 
a  great  distance  from  point  to  point. 

The  feelings  of  Kirk  against  his  father  were  a  trouble  to 
him.  He  felt  most  embittered  by  the  ill-treatment  of  Ted, 
whom  he  loved.  Kirk  placed  his  brother  far  above  himself 
in  virtue.  Any  one  who  could  do  ill  to  his  dear  old  Ted  must 
be  bad. 

Many,  many  religious  doubts  now  filled  Kirk's  mind.  He 
went  to  church  in  a  state  of  constant  critical  examination, 
most  especially  of  his  father.  He  struggled  with  thoughts 
and  feelings  of  unbelief.  The  old  question  had  come  to  him, 
"How  could  a  God  of  Love,  omnipotent,  create  a  world  He 


THE    BOEN    FOOL  91 

knew  would  be  evil  ?  and  how  could  He  make  His  beloved  Son 
die  an  abominably  cruel  death,  merely  to  appease  an  unreas- 
onable anger  against  the  creation  He  had  Himself  made?" 

And  how  could  Kirk's  own  father  have  been  chosen  by 
the  Holy  Spirit  as  an  evangelist  ?  .  .  .  True,  he  had  not  been 
set  apart  after  all.  .  .  .  He  had  not  been  ordained  to  the 
separate  priesthood. 

Kirk  did  not  ask  the  ministers  any  more  questions.  He 
thought  over  all  these  things  in  secret,  and  became  very 
much  troubled.  He  feared  to  ask,  for,  should  such  questions 
come  to  his  father's  ears,  it  would  be  a  most  serious  matter 
• — indeed,  he  thought  his  father  would  turn  him  out  of  the 
house. 

It  weighed  heavily  on  his  conscience,  to  have  to  go  up  to 
Holy  Communion  in  such  a  state  of  mind,  and  with  such 
feelings  against  his  father,  feelings  of  intense  brooding  anger 
that  he  could  rarely  quench.  But  beneath  his  father's  rule 
he  was  compelled  each  Sunday  to  take  the  Holy  Sacrament. 
At  last  he  could  do  it  no  longer;  and  then  a  way  out  of  the 
difficulty  occurred  to  him. 

The  small  flat  wafer  was  used,  of  unleavened  bread.  To 
receive  this  from  the  priest,  one  knelt  and  crossed  the  open 
palms  one  over  the  other.  The  small  white  square  was  laid 
in  the  upper  palm;  the  communicant  bowed  the  head,  took 
it  with  the  lips  and  tongue,  and  by  this  means  the  consecrated 
wafer  was  not  handled  by  those  unordained. 

On  the  Sunday  after  Kirk  had  made  his  resolution  he  re- 
ceived the  deep  chalice  into  his  hands  as  usual,  but  he  raised 
it  carefully  so  that  no  wine  reached  his  lips — he  then  rever- 
ently handed  the  vessel  back  to  the  priest.  He  next  received 
the  wafer,  took  it  into  his  mouth,  and  retained  it  there.  On 
reaching  his  seat  and  kneeling,  he  put  the  wafer  out  into  a 
clean  specially  unused  handkerchief.  At  home  each  Sunday 
he  carefully  burnt  the  wafer.  In  this  way  he  avoided  an 
impiety,  a  desecration  that  had  caused  him  much  emotional 
suffering. 


CHAPTEK  XII 

IT  was  a  public  holiday,  and  Mr.  Clinton's  office  at  Bir- 
mingham was  closed.  Kirk  and  Ted  had  arranged  to 
set  off  at  eight  o'clock  for  a  long  day's  fishing.  They  had  a 
special  permit  for  this  date  only,  to  visit  some  very  good 
waters.  They  had  been  kept  waiting  and  waiting  until  their 
father  saw  fit  to  have  family  prayers  quite  unusually  late, 
instead  of  before  his  breakfast,  though  he  knew  his  sons' 
arrangements.  He  had  dawdled  over  the  meal,  read  his 
paper,  and  then  opened  letters,  while  Ted  became  depressed, 
and  Kirk  fumed  with  suppressed  anger. 

At  last  breakfast  had  been  removed,  but  it  was  past  ten. 
The  family  and  servants  were  standing  up  and  waiting,  round 
a  large  and  rather  sombre  room,  furnished  in  old  dark  ma- 
hogany. The  sideboard,  unusually  massive,  bore  some  silver 
and  a  large  collection  of  ancient  Indian  brass  bowls  and 
figures.  The  high  bookcases  were  filled  mostly  with  devo- 
tional works  and  with  finely  bound  technical  books,  rows  of 
"Proceedings  of  the  Institute  of  Civil  Engineers"  and  other 
volumes  that  treated  of  bridges,  steam,  mathematics,  civil 
engineering  and  mining.  A  dining  table  occupied  the  middle 
of  the  room.  The  papered  walls  were  dull  grey-blue,  cov- 
ered with  a  large  pattern  of  flowering  white  chestnuts.  A 
dark  rectangular-patterned  dado  of  olive  and  brown  made  the 
corners  obscure,  although  there  were  three  windows — one 
very  large,  reaching  nearly  from  floor  to  ceiling.  A  tall  full 
palm  stood  on  the  polished  floor  before  the  big  window.  On 
the  walls  hung  a  few  choice  water-colours,  and  several  small 
Corots,  one  genuine  Greuze,  and  one  large  painting  upon 
canvas — a  Dutch  interior  by  a  good  master.  All  but  the 
Corots  were  in  heavy  gilded  frames. 

92 


THE    BORN    FOOL  93 

A  mantelpiece  of  grey  Devon  marble  carried  for  its  whole 
width  an  immense  mirror,  of  which  the  gilded  framing  nearly 
touched  the  high  ceiling.  This  mirror  at  once  drew  attention. 
An  old  Buhl  clock  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  mantelpiece  and 
on  each  side  was  flanked  by  two  large  carved  mother-of-pearl 
oysters.  At  each  end  stood  a  tall  piece  of  fine  Dresden.  This 
marble  shelf  would  have  been  beau'uful  but  for  the  litter  of 
papers,  letters,  and  tradesmen's  accounts.  These  radiated  in 
untidy  sheaves  from  behind  the  clock  and  the  pearl  shells. 

Mr.  Clinton  stood  up.  He  turned  over  the  leaves  in  the 
Liturgy.  He  was  still  a  tall,  strongly-built  man;  spare, 
not  ungraceful,  with  a  marked  waist,  and  he  wore  excellent 
creased  trousers.  He  looked  his  age,  some  forty-five  years. 
His  fine  forehead  was  well-moulded,  the  temples  were  some- 
what hollow,  but  the  nobly-shaped  upper  head  was  smooth 
and  white. 

Below  this  tonsure  the  hair  was  jet  black,  strong  and 
glossy.  His  dark  bushy  moustache,  well-trimmed,  hid  the 
lips.  The  clean-shaven  chin  and  jaws  were  heavy.  The 
complexion  was  clear  but  slightly  swarthy.  His  Norman 
nose  was  long,  straight,  and  high.  The  eyes  were  very  fine, 
very  dark,  but  very  severe,  exceedingly  cold  and  melancholy. 
Between  and  above  the  bushy  eyebrows  lay  a  deep  vertical  line 
in  the  forehead.  Mr.  Clinton  stood  up  firmly  and  spoke — 

"The  Lord  be  with  you." 

"And  with  thy  spirit." 

The  reply  was  murmured  in  a  very  lifeless  manner,  the 
accent  being  placed  on  the  first  word.  The  speaker  paused. 
His  dark  eyes,  fine  and  steady,  shot  an  angry  glance;  his 
shaggy  eyebrows  worked  as  he  repeated  in  a  peremptory  man- 
ner— 

"The  Lord  be  with  you !"  .  .  . 

Lowering  the  book  in  his  hands,  he  said  sternly  to  his 
second  son — 

"Why  do  you  not  answer,  sir?" 


94  THE    BOKST   FOOL 

The  tall  youth  leaned  slightly  against  the  sideboard,  hia 
hands  behind  him ;  he  moved  his  eyes,  but  not  his  head.  He 
returned  his  father's  glance  with  a  look  of  still  anger.  Hia 
insolent  reply  was  given  in  a  low,  hard  voice — 

"Because  I  do  not  want  the  Lord  to  be  with  you." 

Kirk  had  his  father's  fanatical  eyes;  but  they  were  dark 
grey,  and  at  this  moment  were  like  the  glint  of  hot  polished 
steel. 

"How  dare  you  insult  God  in  this  way!"  exclaimed  the 
father,  red  vertical  cords  rising  on  his  forehead. 

"God  is  not  here;  I  am  sure." 

The  speaker  of  these  words  now  stood  up  squarely,  mo- 
tionless, his  still  eyes  fixed  upon  his  father's.  His  brother 
an  sister  looked  shocked.  The  two  servants  and  the  houseboy 
near  the  dining-room  scented  eagerly  at  the  unusual. 

The  son's  face  was  long,  he  had  a  high  forehead,  full  tem- 
ples, and  the  nose  high,  long,  straight,  with  finely  cut  nostrils. 
His  upper  lip  was  short,  the  mouth  small  and  firm ;  the.  chin 
sharp,  but  determined,  and  improved  by  a  slight  cleft  or 
dimple.  There  was  bone  and  a  clean-cut  look  about  the  face 
and  cheek-bones.  Except  for  the  knotted  fingers,  the  pose, 
the  eyes,  he  in  no  other  way  markedly  resembled  his  father, 
who  now  made  an  inarticulate  noise,  violent  jerkish  incre- 
ments with  the  book,  and  then  with  ungovernable  anger 
forced  out  the  command — 

"...  Go,  to  your  room." 

Kirk  hesitated,  then  went  out  quietly  and  closed  the  door. 
Outside,  on  the  black  sheepskin  rug,  he  stood  a  moment  star- 
ing absently  at  an  old  steel  breastplate  that  hung  on  the  wall. 
There  was  a  sullen  hatred  in  his  keen  face.  Then  he  went 
forward,  treading  softly  over  the  black-and-white  marble ;  he 
slung  his  fishing  basket  about  his  shoulder,  gripped  his  rod 
gun-like  beneath  his  arm,  opened  and  shut  the  front  door 
quietly,  and  set  off  at  a  furious  walking  pace,  through  the 
hot  August  morning.  As  he  went,  he  theorised  bitterly  and 
truly  that  Ted  would  be  forbidden  to  follow  him. 


CHAPTEK  XIII 

KIRK'S  religious  instinct  was  soon  to  receive  a  ruder 
blow. 

Six  miles  from  Severnly,  and  long  forgotten  in  thick  wood- 
lands, was  a  deep  and  curious  ravine.  It  had  heen  made 
before  the  time  of  railways,  and  when  tunnelling  was  but 
little  known. 

A  very  old  abandoned  canal,  after  wandering  for  miles 
along  sloping  fields  that  grew  lonelier,  and  through  woods 
that  grew  denser,  came  into  a  region  of  great  larch  coverts. 
In  the  middle  of  this  forest  the  old  waterway  entered  a 
ravine.  This  narrow  defile — its  sides  well-nigh  vertical — '• 
became  of  great  depth  and  was  very  deeply  shadowed,  as  the 
sloping  forest-land  rose  higher  and  higher.  The  gorge  ceased 
abruptly  far  above  a  ruinous  tunnel,  the  mouth  of  which  was 
much  obscured  by  accumulated  hanging  bramble-bushes. 
Some  way  inside  the  tunnel  the  arched  masonry  had  long 
since  fallen  in.  From  the  cliff-like  sides  of  the  gorge 
peeped  out  almost  from  top  to  bottom  innumerable  thin  level 
ledges  of  rock,  many-coloured.  Everywhere  these  rugged 
shelves  were  grown  luxuriantly  with  bushes,  plants,  wild 
flowers  of  all  kinds,  brambles,  creepers  and  ivy.  The  dense 
pines  and  larches  stood  solemnly  all  round,  and  all  along 
the  edges  of  the  gulf,  and  overhung  this  very  deep  and  silent 
place.  Far  below  lay  clear  and  cold  still  water,  that  re- 
flected the  dark  trees  and  the  depth  of  open  narrow  zenith 
from  far  above.  Such  transparent  water,  deep,  heavily 
shadowed,  and  moveless,  always  held  Kirk  with  a  sense  of 
mysterious  waiting.  It  was  like  something  else  that  lay 
deep  in  himself,  and  waited,  and  watched  himself  fixedly. 
This  motionless  and  perfect  reflection  seemed  to  double  the 

95 


96  THE    BOEN    FOOL 

great  depth  of  the  ravine.  Often  when  Kirk,  standing  on 
the  verge  in  the  forest,  gazed  down  into  the  reflection  and 
let  Tiimself  enter  the  unreal,  he  saw  only  an  extraordinary 
narrow  chasm,  that  went  down  and  opened  in  another  zenith, 
most  profoundly  helow  his  feet. 

In  summer,  many  hright  shafts  of  slender  sunbeams  shot 
down  through  the  dense  forest,  and  were  arrested  by  the  long 
thin  edges  of  the  rocks,  by  bold  outgrowing  bushes,  by  the 
top  bells  of  crimson  foxgloves  that  overleaned ;  but  few  spears 
of  golden  light  ever  reached  the  water,  and  beneath  all  the 
projecting  ledges  lay  dark  shadows. 

After  finding  this  place,  Kirk  went  there  often.  From 
the  silent  carpet  of  the  resinous  scented  forest  he  would 
climb  cautiously  down  to  a  ledge,  creep  gradually  along  it 
to  some  point  where  it  had  broken  away,  and  then  he  would 
climb  down  to  the  next  shelf  of  rock.  In  this  manner — not 
without  risk  of  life — he  frequently  descended  halfway  down 
the  perilous  vertical  side  of  the  gorge.  Then  he  would  sit 
and  think,  and  hear,  far  overhead,  the  tits  calling  and  flitting 
in  the  larch-tops,  or  the  wild  harsh  cries  of  jays,  or  the  sound 
of  the  air  flowing  through  the  countless  tree-tops,  so 
inimitably  like  the  sound  of  ocean.  Under  the  ledges  on  still 
and  hot  days  the  air  was  always  cool,  the  shade  grateful 
to  the  body;  and  the  silence  and  separation  were  beatific 
to  his  soul. 

The  ravine  was  geologically  of  exceptional  interest,  for  it 
gave  view  of  certain  curious  rocks  and  marls,  that  nowhere 
else  could  be  seen  as  here. 

A  single  deep  indentation  broke  the  rocky  face  on  one  side 
of  the  ravine,  and  near  its  head.  This  rift,  or  side-chasm, 
descended  from  the  forest  roots  to  a  point  about  sixty  feet 
above  the  water;  it  had  been  made  long  ago,  to  reach  and 
work  a  thick  horizontal  bed  of  pink  sandstone.  Looking  down 
into  it  from  above,  one  theorised  that  it  must  have  been  cut 
down  vertically  out  of  the  gorge-side.  From  the  edge  of 
the  forest,  on  the  opposite  brink,  this  place  had  no  ordinary 


THE   BOKN   FOOL  97 

appearance.  For  the  innumerable  banded  strata,  one  below 
the  other,  thin  and  horizontal,  formed  wonderfully  and  high- 
ly coloured  narrow  zones,  of  real  pink,  real  warm  crimson, 
or  vivid  yellow,  alternating  with  beautiful  bands  of  pale 
green,  tea-green,  and  terra-cotta  browns  and  reds — from  top 
to  bottom.  The  once  level  floor  at  the  foot  of  this  three-sided 
rift  was  now  almost  wholly  encroached  upon  and  covered  by 
old  grass-grown  falls  of  rock  and  marl,  and  by  slopes  of  fine 
talus  that  had  yearly  crumbled  from  the  soaring  coloured 
walls.  Thick  tussocky  rushes  grew  in  the  centre,  and  a  filter- 
ing of  limpid  water  stole  out  of  them,  winter  and  summer, 
dripped  its  way  down  from  edge  to  edge,  and  made  a  bright 
festoon  of  sparkling  vegetation  right  down  almost  to  the  sul- 
len water.  This  peculiar  side-chasm  in  the  gorge  side,  so 
interesting  to  Kirk,  was  very  difficult  of  access.  He  thought 
the  men  must  have  used  ladders  lashed  together,  or  perhaps 
a  rope  ladder,  for  descent,  and  that  the  stone — if  that  were 
what  was  sought — must  have  been  lowered  by  windlass  on 
to  barges.  But  no  remnants  of  such  work  remained.  The 
harebells  and  mosses  and  the  rushes  grew  everywhere,  un- 
touched, where  men,  now  long  dead,  had  once  worked  day  by 
day.  Kirk  made  several  attempts  before  he  found  a  way 
into  this  old  recess.  He  succeeded  by  climbing  down  the 
gorge-side,  ledge  by  ledge,  until  he  judged  himself  to  be 
level  with  the  bottom  of  the  rift.  He  then  traversed  cau- 
tiously along  the  rock-ledge  he  had  reached,  until  it  ended 
at  the  rift.  After  some  hesitation,  he  made  a  most  risky 
scramble  round  the  corner,  and  found  himself  at  the  bottom 
of  the  rift.  He  looked  out  at  a  narrow  vertical  perspective 
of  the  gorge-side  opposite.  Behind  him,  and  on  his  left  and 
right,  rose  the  coloured  walls  of  banded  rock  and  marl. 

Presently  he  set  to  work  and  cut  a  narrow  pathway  round 
the  corner,  on  to  the  ledge  that  gave  him  access. 

One  July  day,  geological  hammer  and  chisel  in  hand,  while 
Kirk  was  examining  in  this  peculiar  place  the  fallen  frag- 


98  THE   BOKN   FOOL 

ments  of  rock  and  marl,  he  split  a  small  slab  of  greenish 
sandstone.  A  great  thrill  held  him  from  breathing  as  he 
gazed,  for  across  the  ripple-marked  slab  were  deeply  traced 
the  footprints  of  a  little  four-footed  archaic  animal.  Kirk 
knew  this  to  be  a  find  rare  and  wonderful.  He  knew  well, 
too,  that  these  footprints  had  been  made  when  the  spot  he 
stood  on  was  a  boundless  shore,  among  subsiding  desert  seas, 
almost  dead  seas,  that  were  too  hot,  too  arid,  too  salt  to  sup- 
port any  life  but  that  of  stunted  fish  and  shell-fish.  Holding 
the  slab  and  gazing  on  it,  he  felt  the  keen  sympathy  of  a 
living  creature — himself — with  this  lonely  animal  that  was 
so  profoundly  lost  and  for  ever  passed  away.  The  warm  light 
on  his  hands  reminded  him  that  the  great  Sun  still  poured 
down  his  divine  rays.  Behold!  this  same  light  he  stood  in 
was  but  another  of  the  countless,  countless  "afternoons" — 
part  of  this  vast  and  ceaseless  flow  of  sunlight  that  went  back 
and  back  until  that  little  animal  had  lived,  and  then  infinitely 
further  and  further  still  before  even  those  times.  And  Kirk 
vividly  imagined  himself,  realised  himself,  standing — ages 
and  ages  ago,  long,  long  before  the  human  race — listening  to 
the  lapping  of  the  hot  wavelets  that  once  had  rippled  the 
sand,  while  he  stood,  the  only  human  being  in  the  world, 
and  looked  over  the  boundless  desert,  and  the  equally  un- 
known burning  sea.  His  gaze  rested  again  on  the  hardened 
ripple-marks,  the  footprints,  and  the  indistinct  trails  of 
shell-fish.  The  last  eyes  that  saw  them  wet  and  soft  had  not 
been  human,  and  had  seen  things  millions  of  years  ago ! 

After  that  vast  lapse,  his  own  eyes  were  destined  first  to 
re-see  these  footsteps. 

Kirk  now  theorised  that  as  the  labyrinthodonts — these 
small  amphibious  creatures — had  without  doubt  walked  about 
on  these  strata,  when  such  were  soft  sea  deposits,  then  it  fol- 
lowed that  the  fossils  of  their  food,  i.e.  of  fish,  should  be  dis- 
coverable in  these  same  strata.  Also,  from  the  trails  of  shell- 
fish, one  would  deduce  the  presence  of  their  fossilised  shells. 


THE   BOKN   FOOL  99 

But  he  knew  that  these  rocks  were  said  in  text-books  to  be 
barren  in  England,  of  all  ancient  life-remains.  Yet,  despite 
this,  he  determined  eagerly  to  search  and  examine,  to  test 
his  theory. 

Late  on  the  next  Saturday  afternoon,  after  a  hot  climb 
down  to  the  rift,  Kirk  was  resting  and  gazing  absently  over 
the  chasm,  when  he  espied  on  the  opposite  cliff  a  small  and 
rare  flowering  shrub.  He  stood  up  at  once  and  looked  again ; 
yes,  there  was  no  doubt;  it  was  the  very  flower  of  which 
Isobel  had  told  him.  She  specially  wanted  this  plant  for  her 
collection.  She  had  read  to  him  the  description  of  its  haunts, 
and  had  shown  him  a  coloured  sketch  of  the  flower — and  now, 
unexpectedly,  he  had  found  the  prize !  He  would  give  it  to 
her  to-morrow — when  he  saw  her.  He  thought  also  how 
pleased  Maud  would  be. 

But  as  Kirk  looked  and  reconnoitred  the  shrub  seemed 
more  and  more  difficult  to  obtain.  It  was  about  opposite  to 
himself,  viz.,  some  fifty  feet  above  the  water  and  eighty  feet 
or  so  below  the  floor  of  the  forest.  Had  he  but  had  a  long 
rope,  all  would  have  been  easy;  but  the  bloom  was  going — 
he  could  see  the  pale  pink  petals  on  the  grey  sandstone  just 
below  the  plant.  Tentatively  he  picked  out,  on  the  opposite 
face,  a  line  of  descent  from  ledge  to  ledge.  This  seemed  a 
possible  way  down  with  the  help  of  the  stout  wind-or-bird- 
sown  saplings  and  bushes.  High  overhead  he  marked  the 
commencement  of  this  line  by  a  group  of  red  foxgloves  that 
leaned  over  the  very  edge.  He  then  made  his  way  upwards 
from  the  rift  and  at  length  walked  round  the  head  of  the 
ravine. 

He  found  the  foxgloves.  He  took  off  his  coat  and  made 
a  very  careful  descent  of  some  thirty  feet;  but  he  had  to 
return:  The  ledges  were  soft  here,  and  pieces  broke  off ;  the 
bushes  also  were  not  well-rooted,  and  he  heard  dislodged  stones 
fall  and  plunge  heavily  in  the  water.  Difficultly  he  climbed 
up  again.  He  chose  another  place,  judging  himself  almost 
above  the  coveted  flower,  and  again  he  began  to  climb  down- 


100  THE   BORN    FOOL 

wards.  It  was  not  easy.  When  he  had  slowly  descended 
some  way  he  discovered  another  climber — a  rabbit,  crouched 
on  the  last  bit  at  the  end  of  a  little  ledge.  For  some  seconds 
each  remained  motionless.  But  the  moment  that  Kirk 
moved,  the  terrified  rabbit  tried  to  scramble  away  but  in- 
stantly lost  footing.  It  fell  eighty  feet.  Kirk  heard  dis- 
tantly the  impact  of  the  body  when  it  struck  the  water.  This 
happening  somewhat  unnerved  him ;  also  he  felt  very  pitiful 
to  the  poor  wild  animal  sent  to  death  out  of  its  happy  life. 
Remaining  still  and  peering  down  through  the  dense  growth 
of  the  ledges  he  saw  half  the  circles  that  widened  out  on  the 
sinister  water.  With  increased  care,  nevertheless,  he  began 
to  continue  his  descent,  but  suddenly  a  big  mass  of  rock  and 
marl  gave  way  beneath  his  feet,  and  for  two  seconds  he 
hung  only  by  his  hands.  The  tremendous  plunge  of  the 
debris  echoed  throughout  the  ravine.  A  jay  fled  away  cry- 
ing; loud  clappings  of  wild  pigeons  arose  overhead  in  the 
forest. 

With  arms  trembling,  Kirk  gradually  climbed  up  again  to 
safety.  He  thought  a  little,  and  then  determined  to  see  if 
he  could  get  up  from  the  bottom.  He  walked  along  the  ravine 
for  some  five  hundred  yards,  until  he  could  get  down  to  the 
wateredge.  The  talus  of  years  made  a  narrow,  highly  sloping 
and  broken  path,  right  along  beneath  the  cliff;  indeed  it 
seemed  that  some  kind  of  a  base-ledge  had  been  left  here. 
Kirk  crept  along  this,  at  the  cliff-foot,  until  opposite  the  rab- 
bit— there  it  floated,  the  white  fur  partly  upward,  terror 
fixed  in  the  dead  open  eyes.  From  far  inside  the  black 
tunnel  was  now  audible  a  chilling  sound  of  falling  water. 
The  day  was  closing,  and  the  first  gloom  of  coming  night 
began  to  fill  the  lowest  of  this  deep  void  in  the  forest.  Kirk 
threw  off  a  strange  feeling  of  awe,  and  began  to  climb  up- 
ward. It  was  getting  late.  "How  quickly  the  time  has 
passed!"  thought  he.  It  seemed  much  easier  to  climb  up. 
He  became  less  careful.  When  twenty  feet  up  he  seized  too 
vigorously  a  little  sapling ;  it  gave  completely ;  he  fell,  struck 


THE   BORN   FOOL  101 

the  sandy  cliff-foot,  and  bounced  partly  into  the  frigid  water. 
After  this  he  sat  still  for  ten  minutes,  until  the  feeling  of 
nausea  had  passed  away,  and  until  his  wet  limbs  had  ceased 
trembling.  "This  is  nothing!"  thought  he.  "One  always 
trembles  after  boxing — after  any  great  exertion."  Presently 
— and  within  him  a  kind  of  fierce  anger — he  began  once 
more  to  climb,  but  this  time  with  the  greatest  circumspection. 
Slowly  he  went  up,  or  sideways,  and  a  shower  of  small  stones 
fell  now  and  then.  And  at  length  he  reached  the  level  of 
the  shrub.  Eagerly  he  examined  it.  He  took  it  bodily  from 
its  slight  hold,  held  the  stem  between  his  teeth,  and  then 
climbed  on  for  the  cliff  top.  The  sun  was  quite  low  when 
Kirk  came  out  near  the  foxgloves.  He  felt  a  strong  and 
gratifying  sense  of  triumph,  but  his  eyes  avoided  the  ravine, 
for  in  this  darkness  it  was,  minute  by  minute,  becoming  a 
terrifying  abyss.  He  hastened  from  the  ravine  and  the  forest 
before  he  examined  himself.  His  clothes  seemed  none  the 
worse — they  were  only  wet.  He  had  merely  got  severe  bruises 
upon  his  hip  and  shoulder,  and  a  rather  bad  cut  on  the  back 
of  his  hand. 

Kirk  never  again  stayed  till  darkness  came;  but  in  sun- 
shine the  seclusion  of  the  ravine  fascinated  him.  There 
no  one  had  ever  come.  No  one  ever  disturbed  the  place  or 
himself.  He  could  dream  in  summer  and  at  the  same  time 
could  work  away  at  the  thin  hard  strata.  He  had  vainly  ex- 
plored here  and  there  in  many  places,  and  had  become  dis- 
couraged from  his  search,  when  one  day  he  read  in  Cuvier 
these  words :  "That  place  most  examined  yields  most,"  Fired 
anew  by  this  saying,  by  the  attractive  look  of  the  strata,  and 
by  the  instinct  of  discovery,  Kirk  determined  to  begin  at  the 
very  top  and  work  right  down  systematically  to  the  very  bot- 
tom. He  would  open  as  it  were  the  pages  of  each  rocky 
manuscript  and  peep  in;  he  would  go  down  layer  by  layer 
and  examine  the  accumulated,  dried,  and  hardened  sands 
and  silts  of  the  vanished  sea — from  top  to  bottom !  He  now 


102  THE    BORN    FOOL 

brought  out  with  him  a  four-pound  hammer  and  a  long 
chisel.  A  fortnight  seldom  passed  in  which  Kirk  did  not 
spend  a  day  or  two  in  the  ravine.  At  the  end  of  each  day 
he  huried  the  hammer  and  chisel  to  await  his  return.  The 
nearest  station  was  three  miles  away,  but  he  preferred  to 
walk.  It  saved  fivepence,  and  country  lanes  were  a  sweet- 
ness to  him.  He  had  by  now  given  most  of  his  affection  to 
lanes  and  woods  and  fields  and  trees  he  loved,  and  especially 
to  wild  flowers  and  their  own  haunts;  and  for  his  private 
use  he  had  long  named  such  places.  Among  them  were  Shady 
Lane,  Hazel  Lane,  Lingering  Path,  West  Woodloes,  Nettle- 
bed  Wood,  Violets'  Wood,  "Ringdoves"  (a  dark  pine  wood), 
Reedy  Pool,  The  Carp  Pools,  The  Rock,  Shadow  Bushes; 
and  there  was  a  brook  that  was  the  very  sister  of  Tennyson's 
Brook,  and  since  Kirk  was  thirteen  he  had  called  it  "On-On." 

One  September  afternoon,  over  three  years  since  his 
mother's  death,  Kirk  again  was  in  the  ravine.  His  coat  lay 
on  the  dry  dying  grass  of  a  broad  ledge,  his  hammer  and 
chisel  clinked  away  musically  in  the  silence.  He  had  now 
worked  more  than  halfway  down,  with  no  success  from  the 
day  of  the  footprints.  He  paused  to  rest,  and  then  heard  a 
slight  unusual  sound  that  made  him  sharply  look  up.  A  short 
and  sturdy  old  clergyman  stood  and  gazed  down  at  him  from 
the  opposite  brink.  He  beckoned  with  a  gloved  hand  that 
held  a  hammer. 

Great  vexation  filled  Kirk — intensely  jealous  of  his  soli- 
tude. He  was  quite  unaware  that  the  Reverend  James  Blenk, 
M.A.,  F.R.S.,  F.G.I.,  felt  just  the  same.  Kirk  climbed  up 
to  the  old  man,  who  introduced  himself  and  made  a  very  full 
cross-examination  of  Kirk.  Immediately  Kirk  found  the 
intruder  was  indeed  the  great  Blenk,  the  Medallist,  one  of 
those  great  ones  of  the  Geological  Institute,  then  his  feelings 
were  changed  utterly,  to  something  like  worship.  The 
patronage  of  Mr.  Blenk  was  quite  proper ;  he  had  a  right  to 
ask  everything  about  one's  parentage  and  age.  Mr.  Blenk 


THE   BORN    FOOL  103 

now  gave  Kirk  some  interesting  details  about  the  rocks  at 
which  they  looked;  he  then  spoke  of  himself.  He  was  the 
rector  of  Priors  Lench,  a  hamlet  some  few  miles  distant. 
For  over  forty  years  he  had  kept  this  old  quarry  under  ob- 
servation, whenever  it  had  been  worked — "only  twice;  once 
to  mend  our  tithe-barn,  and  once,  twenty-five  years  ago,  to 
restore  a  few  pinnacles  on  Severnly  Abbey  Lady  Chapel — 
the  original  quarry  is  buried  somewhere  in  this  forest."  He 
catechised  Kirk  as  to  his  reading  in  geology,  and  put  him 
through  quite  an  examination. 

"What !  and  have  you  devoured  Giekie's  great  text-book  ? 
Well  done !  well  done  indeed !" 

Kirk  glowed  with  pleasure,  and  forthwith  poured  out  to 
Mr.  Blenk  all  about  the  system  and  the  search  he  had  now 
been  engaged  on  for  three  months — and  he  quoted  his  French- 
man. .  .  .  But  the  old  man  laughed  dryly — 

"Ah,  I  fear  you  will  get  nothing !  in  fact  I  know  you  will 
find  nothing.  Very  praiseworthy  of  you — but  barren!  all 
barren !  like  fishing  in  the  Dead  Sea !"  Then  he  told  Kirk 
how  a  few  tiny  fossil  fragments  of  some  unknown  animal 
had  been  found  here  by  the  quarrymen  thirty-five  years  ago, 
in  the  big  bed  of  pink  sandstone,  and  he  spoke  on.  "Noth- 
ing since  then !  That  bed  is  the  only  hope — there  ts  some- 
thing in  that."  And  he  looked  down  at  Kirk's  tools.  "But 
what  can  you  do  with  those  2" 

The  place  had  a  memory  unpleasant  for  Mr.  Blenk,  for 
his  wife  was  rich,  and  after  her  husband  by  great  trouble 
at  last  obtained  leave  to  quarry  that  big  bed,  ten  years  ago, 
she  had  refused  flatly  to  finance  his  operations,  and  at  last, 
being  importuned,  she  had  used  such  words — 

"My  dear !  quite  absurd !  spending  money  for  the  possible 
sake  of  rubbishy  bits  of  fossil-rubbish!  absolutely  absurd! 
my  dear!" — and  she  remained  adamant.  Blenk  had  never 
forgotten  this  humiliation. 

Kirk,  a  few  weeks  after  meeting  him,  went  by  invitation 


104  THE   BORN   FOOL 

to  the  Rectory.  Amid  his  quite  exceptional  collection  Mr. 
Blenk  unthawed;  he  became  enthusiastic,  and  talked  freely 
while  Kirk,  sincerely  respectful,  looked,  listened,  and  learned. 

From  the  very  first  he  liked  Mrs.  Blenk.  She  was  a  tall, 
big,  fat,  sensible,  rosy,  beautifully  dressed  old  lady.  She 
had  excellent  ideas  upon  the  feeding  capacity  of  young  folk. 
She  was  serene  and  satisfied  with  life.  She  had  always  ruled 
kindly  and  firmly  in  the  Rectory  and  in  the  isolated  old- 
world  hamlet.  The  interests  of  her  husband,  who  unfortu- 
nately had  become  so  avaricious  in  his  collecting,  so  child- 
ishly greedy  and  jealous  of  scientific  fame,  were  to  her  entire- 
ly trivial,  and  mere  harmless  eccentricities.  Nevertheless, 
the  city  of  Severnly  owed  him  a  great  debt  for  a  very  fine 
geological  museum,  which  had  long  attracted  savants  from 
London,  France,  and  Germany.  Case  after  case  of  treas- 
ures had  been  obtained  or  given  through  the  influence  of  Mr. 
Blenk.  Everywhere  in  the  museum  his  name  appeared  on 
specimens.  Kirk  was  aware  of  all  this  long  before  Mr.  Blenk 
found  him  in  the  ravine.  The  boy  had  spent  many,  many 
hours  among  those  cases,  and  at  the  suggestion  of  Mr.  Stogg, 
who  was  the  enormously  tall,  thin,  kindly,  eccentric,  and 
grossly  ignorant  curator — Kirk  had  even  hoped  there  to  meet 
Mr.  Blenk.  But  the  old  scientist  now  rarely  came  to  Severn- 
ly, and  Kirk  each  time  had  missed  him.  This  visit  to  the 
.Rectory  was  for  Kirk  an  affair  of  great  importance.  Actu- 
ally to  know  and  visit  the  Rev.  James  Blenk,  F.R.S.,  etc,, 
was  indeed  a  getting  on  in  life.  It  was  a  great  event! 

Moved  more  than  usual  by  the  uncommon  mind  and  keen 
interest  of  Kirk,  Mr.  Blenk  overcame  the  miserliness  that 
cursed  his  old  age,  and  gave  him  a  few  choice  duplicates. 
After  much  tea  and  cake,  Mrs.  Blenk  ordered  the  carriage, 
and  Kirk,  very,  very  happy,  was  driven  to  the  station.  He 
took  a  second-class  ticket,  being  too  foolishly  sensitive,  vain, 
and  elated  to  allow  the  smart  groom  to  put  his  parcel  of 
fossils  into  a  third-class  carriage.  Of  all  these  matters  he 
never  told  one  word  to  his  father,  fearing  deprecation,  oppo- 


THE    BOKN    FOOL  105 

sition,  or  interference;  but  he  told  Mary  everything,  and 
took  her  several  times  to  the  ravine,  paying  her  fare  both 
ways  to  the  rather  distant  station. 

He  continued  his  research  in  the  gorge,  and  received  a  let- 
ter now  and  then  from  Mr.  Blenk — letters  never  written  on 
notepaper,  but  on  the  backs  of  advertisements,  on  the  blank 
backs  of  railway  excursion  fly-bills,  even  on  pieces  of  brown 
paper ;  but  the  envelopes,  addressed  in  a  minute  spidery  hand, 
bore  a  handsome  black  crest.  Mr.  Blenk  seemed  to  acquire 
railway  handbills  en  masse.  He  had  told  Kirk  they  made  ex- 
cellent paper  to  enwrap  fossils  for  transit.  On  the  arrival  of 
the  second  letter  Kirk's  father  cross-examined  him  as  to  the 
origin.  The  fact  of  Mr.  Blenk  being  a  rector  just  sufficiently 
allayed  that  dark  suspicion  with  which  Mr.  Clinton  now 
habitually  regarded  natural  science,  and  all  letters  received 
by  his  son.  He  took  the  opportunity  to  hope  Kirk  would 
conduct  himself  as  a  gentleman,  and  remarked  that  Mr.  Blenk 
was  very  good  "to  take  such  interest  in  a  youth." 

While  his  father  was  away  Kirk  spent  a  whole  Sunday 
at  Priors  Lench.  By  request  of  Mrs.  Blenk  he  arrived  there 
on  Saturday  in  time  for  lunch.  He  became  quite  enamoured 
of  Mrs.  Blenk.  He  divided  his  attention  with  considerable 
tact  between  the  motherly  and  the  scientific.  In  the  old 
church,  full  of  rich  glass  and  carvings,  Kirk  sat  before  the 
pulpit  and  beside  his  hostess  during  the  Sunday  morning 
service.  Pennons  of  long  railway  handbills  gummed  together 
descended  slowly,  and  went  up  briskly,  in  front  of  the  pulpit- 
lectern,  as  Mr.  Blenk  read  quickly  through  his  sermon.  Kirk, 
quietly  observing,  judged  the  longest  single  effort  to  be  no 
less  than  six  feet.  After  dinner  Kirk  and  Mr.  Blenk  went 
a  walk,  and,  instinctively,  made  their  way  towards  the  ravine, 
which  lay  some  two  miles  distant. 

"I  do  not  geologise  on  Sundays,  Mr.  Clinton,  but  there 
will  be  no  harm  in  our  glancing  round — as  you  say  you  have 
nearly  reached  the  end  of  your  search  ?" 


106  THE   BOKN   FOOL 

"Yes,  I  have  examined  each  horizon  right  down  as  far  as 
it  is  possible;  there's  not  much  left  to  be  done!" 

"A  useless  waste  of  energy,  Clinton  .  .  .  perfectly  use- 
less." 

"It  looks  so  good." 

"Ha !  ha !  ha !  .  .  .  I'm  afraid  you  are  a  romantic  ...    ?" 

Mr.  Blenk,  as  he  said  this,  looked  closely  at  Kirk  as  though 
he  were  a  most  doubtful  fossil. 

"...  But  you  must  put  that  kind  of  thing  quite,  quite 
away !" 


CHAPTER  XIV 

TED  had  spent  a  year  in  his  father's  office,  and  he  cer- 
tainly earned  his  living,  though  he  drew  no  salary. 
Ted  learnt  to  survey,  trace,  draw,  and  colour.  He  worked 
hard  and  showed  skill  in  calculations.  He  acquired  a  prac- 
tical knowledge  of  brickwork,  masonry,  concrete,  earthwork, 
tunnelling  and  bridgework,  and  he  gained  some  practice  in 
minor  civil  engineering  design.  Ted  would  have  made  a  very 
good  civil  engineer,  but  from  his  father  he  received  no  en- 
couragement. Ted's  very  proper  desire  to  take  the  necessary 
engineering  course  at  Owen's,  or  Mason's,  or  King's  College 
was  pooh-poohed;  and,  after  some  final  months  of  sharper 
friction  with  his  father,  Ted  suddenly  left  home.  He  had 
now  held  a  very  poor  appointment  for  a  twelvemonth ;  but  by 
great  economy  he  had  managed,  not  only  to  keep  himself,  but 
also  to  pay  tithe,  one-tenth  of  his  income,  to  the  Church.  Mr. 
Clinton  now  seldom  thought  of  his  elder  son.  If  he  spoke 
of  him,  it  was  always  with  opprobrium  or  disparagement,  and 
correspondence  between  father  and  son  had  ceased  quickly. 
Kirk  was  by  now  seventeen  and  was  to  leave  Severnly  School 
at  the  end  of  the  term;  but  beyond  this  his  father  had  said 
nothing  of  his  future.  Kirk  had  grown  up  into  a  fairly 
tall,  rather  slim,  and  very  hardy  youth.  He  carried  himself 
well.  He  was  not  without  good  looks,  and,  further,  he  was 
clever-looking.  His  silky  dark-brown  hair  reflected  a  reddish 
glint,  and  curled  a  little  here  and  there.  The  perceptive 
faculties  just  above  the  brows  were  full,  and,  had  this  not 
been  so,  the  high  upper  forehead  might  have  been  too  promi- 
nent. His  temples  were  full;  indeed,  they  were  already 
the  marked  temples  of  the  idealist,  of  the  lover  of  things 

107 


108  THE    BOKN    FOOL 

great,  majestic,  strange,  and  beautiful.  But  the  grey  eyes, 
level  and  well  apart,  marked  most  the  expression  of  this  face. 
Habitually  now  was  mingled  in  them  both  a  keenness  and 
a  state  of  reverie.  In  opposition  these  eyes  were  bold  and 
steady,  quite  matter-of-fact,  cold,  even  supercilious.  Truth- 
ful people  they  met  truthfully.  When  their  owner  sensed  de- 
ception, the  deceitful  felt  these  eyes  become  utterly  piercing, 
most  disconcerting,  and  such  people  were  compelled  to  speak 
on,  but  could  not  meet  these  eyes.  In  general,  accentuated 
by  the  acuteness  of  the  lines,  his  face  carried  a  look  of  one 
searching.  Although  grave  in  repose,  Kirk's  face  lit  up 
vivaciously,  his  eyes  changed  and  sparkled  when  interest  or 
pleasure,  but  especially  when  emotion  touched  him. 

About  mid-term,  upon  a  Wednesday  afternoon,  Kirk  by 
previous  arrangement  met  his  reverend  geological  friend 
at  Severnly  museum.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Blenk  had  to-day  come 
in  by  train.  The  Yorkshire  coachman — the  only  person  ever 
known  flatly  to  contradict  or  oppose  Mrs.  Blenk — had  very 
positively  informed  her  that  morning,  "ISTor,  nor  M'm,  aw 
konnor  let  thee  tak  th'  horse  out  o'  sterbel,  not  t'der.  Yon 
Bess  has  geeten  a  fair  mish  corld.  Thee  can  tak'  lettel  toob 
to  stertion,  wi'  porny." 

There  was  shopping  to  be  done,  but  first  Mrs.  Blenk 
thought  that  for  once  in  her  life  she  would  look  round  this 
everlasting  museum,  of  which  she  had  so  often  heard.  As 
they  all  entered  she  was  speaking  with  Kirk,  and  panted  a 
little :  the  stairs  were  rather  steep  for  one  so  tall  and  stout. 

"Only  fancy,  Mr.  Clinton !  I  have  never  been  here  before ; 
so  far,  you  know,  so  much  to  do !  When  one  comes  to  town, 
oh !  .  .  .  these  stairs  .  .  .  you  must  show  me,  the  .  .  .  the 
tilings" 

But  Mr.  Stogg,  amateur  artist  of  portentous  works,  "cura- 
tor" by  some  strange  machination  of  the  Fates,  possessor  of  a 
gigantic  strawberry  nose  and  a  most  surprising  lisp,  now 
authoritatively  waved  Kirk  and  Mr.  Blenk  forward  by  them- 


THE    BORN    FOOL  109 

selves,  and  at  once  took  in  hand  Mrs.  Blenk.  For  her  hus- 
band Mr.  Stogg  had  long  entertained  a  prodigious  pitying 
contempt.  But  for  all  women  he  had  ever  felt  he  possessed 
a  peculiar  charm.  For  his  own  learning  he  had  that  deep 
respect  he  gave  to  no  one  else.  Meanwhile,  he  adroitly 
turned  Mrs.  Blenk  into  one  room,  and  then  deigned  to 
greet  Mr.  Blenk. 

"G'dafternoon,  Mishter  Bellenk,"  said  he,  to  Mr.  Blenk's 
back,  adding  with  a  subdued  disappointment,  "Ar  thought  ye 
was  dead !" 

"Dead !  dead !  dead ! !  What  do  you  mean  ?  Bring  the 
keys  of  No.  1  to  8  quickly ;  dead  indeed !  dead ! 

"A  dreadful  creature,  Clinton,  that,  but  we  have  no  funds 
for  a  better :  dead  indeed !  dead  .  .  ."  murmured  Blenk,  quite 
upset  by  the  idea. 

Presently  Kirk  and  Mr.  Blenk,  while  opening  cases  near 
the  doorway  of  another  room,  overheard  the  conversation  of 
Mrs.  Blenk  and  her  mentor,  and  Kirk  saw  them  standing  in 
front  of  a  huge  fossil  saurian — an  extinct  sea  lizard — partly 
embedded  in  the  heavy  limestone  slabs  in  which  it  had  been 
found.  Stogg,  highly  exhilarated  by  a  recent  large  nip  of 
gin,  was  equal  to  any  question,  even  from  the  most  learned, 
and  he  discoursed  ably  and  imperiously.  But  he  had  not 
yet  absolutely  dominated  Mrs.  Blenk. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Stogg,  yes,  yes,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Blenk,  forcing 
her  way  into  his  turgid  now  of  description,  "but  how  did  it 
get  there  ?" 

"Lor  blesh  ye !  'Ee  come-out-on-the-beach !  Shee  ?  Shee  ? 
Shee?" 

"Yes?"  (doubtfully). 

"Then  come  the  coal  measures !  and  cover  j'im  in ! !" 

Mr.  Stogg  delivered  this  with  triumphant  unction,  and 
struck  an  attitude. 

"Really!  really,  Mr.  Stogg!  how  intensely  interesting 
...  I  never  even  thought  of  such  a  thing ! !  .  .  .  and  this, 


110  THE    BOKN   FOOL 

Mr.  Stogg,  is,  I  suppose,  his  top  jaw  ?"  She  poked  it  with  her 
umbrella.  Stogg  fiercely  caught  the  umbrella-end.  "Don't 
spile  'im !  Don't  spile  'im ! !" — He  glared  at  her,  then  re- 
luctantly loosed  the  umbrella,  said,  "Mushn't  poke  'im !" — 
and  so  returned  to  his  grander  manner,  with  reproof  added 
thereto — 

"That,  mam,  is  'is  soopeerior  man-geable."  And  Mrs. 
Blenk  took  the  reproof  with  secret  delight  as  she  passed  to 
the  next  exhibit.  .  .  . 

"What  a  strange  flat  fish!  and  what  very  thick  scales!" 
said  she. 

"Hosteo-leppish !  grand ! !  grand  spheshemen ! !  a  hancient 
plaice,  mum !  note  grand  blennemite  by  'is  nose !" 

"But  the  fish,  my  dear  Mr.  Strogg,  why  is  it  so  very,  very 
flat?" 

Stogg  really  was  posed  for  a  moment,  only  for  a  moment, 
the  while  he  murmured  "Stogg,  Madam,  Stogg" — then, 
smiling  awfully — he  leered  at  Mrs.  Blenk  as  he  drew  back 
dramatically,  and  lowered  his  face  to  hers — he  glanced  point- 
edly over  her  ample  form — his  great  nose  went  purple  with 
joy — and  he  exclaimed  wither ingly — 

"You'd  'a  been  flat !  if  you'd  'a  been  were  'ee  was ! ! !" 

Kirk  was  shaking  with  suppressed  delight,  and  even  Mr. 
Blenk  heard  Stogg  and  said — 

"Great  heavens!  what  things  that  fellow  is  telling  that 
woman !" 

Kirk  and  his  companion  opened  many  cases,  and  took 
out  fossils  to  examine  them  in  the  best  light,  but  Mrs.  Blenk 
had  soon  gone  shopping,  and  was  to  meet  her  husband  on  the 
five-o'clock  train.  Stogg  nominally  closed  the  museum  at 
4.30  p.m.,  but  4  o'clock  better  suited  him,  and  as  this  earlier 
time  had  now  arrived  he  hovered  most  impatiently  behind 
the  rector's  coat-tails,  he  shut  the  cases  up  after  him  in  great 
heat,  and  grumbled  audibly  to  himself.  But  Mr.  Blenk  took 
no  notice  and  went  on  talking  with  Kirk.  Stogg  looked  with 


THE    BOKN    FOOL  111 

deep  contempt  at  his  president,  then    went  to  a    window, 

leaned  out,  jerked  in  again,  and  exclaimed  into  the  room — 
"Fivesh  o'clock!    I  know  you'll  be  late!  and  I  'opesh  ye 

will!"     Up  jumped  Mr.  Blenk  banging  a  glass  door  in  his 

haste  to  whip  out  his  watch. 

"Five  o'clock,  man ! !    Goodness,  how  you  frightened  me !" 
"All  right !  all  right !  don't  she  believe  me !  .  .   .  An'  ye've 

put  your  backside  nearly  through  that  cashe!     I  know  ye'll 

be  late  and  I  'opesh  ye  will !"  and  Stogg  went  off  deliberately 

to  an  inn  which  stood  opposite  the  museum. 

Kirk,  a  week  later,  walked  out  to  the  ravine.  He  climbed 
down  within  fifteen  feet  of  water-level.  He  made  his  way 
along  for  some  distance,  and  then  began  to  complete  his  long 
examination.  But  he  did  not  remain  there  more  than  twenty 
minutes.  His  chisel  and  hammer,  suddenly  thrown  down, 
lay  on  the  narrow  talus  at  the  bottom  of  the  ravine.  Almost 
breathless  through  a  rapid  climb,  through  speed  and  ex- 
citement, he  ran  through  the  forest  on  a  bee-line  for  the  rec- 
tory. In  his  hand  he  carried  a  small  pink  slab.  On  this 
were  two  fossil  mollusca — fossil  shell-fish.  Kirk  knew  well 
the  records  of  these  barren  rocks.  The  shells  in  his  hand 
were  not  recorded,  and  were  of  two  species.  He  was  positive 
he  had  found  new  species. 

"Good  heavens !  It's  incredible !  utterly  incredible  luck !" 
panted  he  aloud,  as  he  ran,  breathless,  exulting  with  the  great 
joy  of  discovery. 

Mr.  Blenk  confirmed  absolutely  Kirk's  surmise.  They 
were  without  any  shadow  of  doubt  two  unknown  species,  and, 
extraordinary  occurrence !  both  on  one  tiny  slab !  Blenk  was . 
even  more  astonished,  when  Kirk  showed  him  some  other 
fossils  found  that  same  day  in  the  ravine,  not  unknown  in 
Germany,  but  of  extreme  rarity  in  Great  Britain.  Blenk 
hid  his  profound  chagrin,  his  intense  malicious  jealousy.  To 
him  it  was  as  though  another  miser  had  come  at  night  and 
taken  away  hidden  gold  from  his  own  garden,  from  under  his 


112  THE   BOBN   FOOL 

nose :  precious  delicious  gold,  gold !  that  wretchedly  had  lain 
within  his  reach  all  those  forty  years!  This  miserable,  in- 
quisitive, ferreting  youth  had  no  right  to  such  a  discovery. 
It  was  rank  poaching,  and  of  what  possible  use  was  such  a 
discovery  to  a  mere  boy  ? 

But  Mrs.  Blenk  made  Kirk  sit  by  the  fire,  and  insisted 
on  tea  before  the  two  departed  in  the  carriage  to  visit  the 
ravine.  Before  they  set  off,  she  made  Kirk  wrap  a  rug  round 
himself,  to  prevent  chill  after  his  three-mile  race.  When  they 
arrived,  the  climb  down  was  found  quite  impossible  for  Mr. 
Blenk,  so  he  stood  in  the  darkening  forest,  and  watched 
Kirk's  unconsciously  perilous  descent.  Kirk  at  length  sig- 
I  nailed  the  place  of  discovery  to  Mr.  Blenk,  shouted  a  descrip- 
tion to  him,  and  then  climbed  back. 

Kirk  was  to  measure  up  and  make  a  most  complete  sec- 
tion of  the  strata,  and  was  to  write  a  paper.  Mr.  Blenk  said 
that  he  would  himself  personally  read  it  at  the  Geological 
Institute,  on  behalf  of  Kirk.  He  would  help  him  in  every 
way,  correct  the  manuscript,  and  place  his  library  at  Kirk's 
disposal.  Kirk  was  deeply  grateful,  and  happy  as  a  girl 
newly  betrothed  to  one  she  loves. 

The  new  species  and  the  very  rare  fish-fossils  were  sent 
up  to  London  for  examination.  Several  scientific  journals 
published  preliminary  notes  and  mentioned  Kirk's  name. 
The  editor  of  a  London  paper  sent  a  man  to  interview  Kirk. 
The  Severnly  and  local  press  followed  suit.  These  people  all 
asked  for  and  received  full,  exact  information.  And  each, 
without  consulting  Kirk,  or  any  ordinary  geologist,  cut  down 
the  copy,  and  printed  a  kindly  and  imposing  notice;  which 
was  indeed  full — for  the  scientific — of  amusing,  annoying, 
or  astounding  misconceptions,  misspellings,  and  omissions. 
These  printings  filled  Kirk  with  a  mingled  gratitude  and  con- 
fused vexation.  The  specimens  were  returned  from  London. 
They  would  go  up  again  with  Mr.  Blenk.  Kirk  said  nothing 
to  his  father,  but  other  people  did,  and  Mr.  Clinton  was 
annoyed  to  find  himself  in  the  dark.  He  turned  up  the  local 


THE   BORN   FOOL  113 

papers  for  the  last  few  days,  glanced  through  them  and  then 
sent  for  Kirk. 

"What  are  these  things  you  have  been  finding?  Let  me 
look  at  them." 

Kirk  brought  the  treasures.  "Please  handle  them  with 
great  care,  father,  they  are  very  fragile."  He  was  on  pins 
while  his  father  looked  carelessly  at  several  specimens. 

"Dear  me !  bits  of  stone !  bits  of  old  shells !  Is  all  this  fuss 
merely  about  these  things,  Kirkpatrick  ?  .  .  .  You  are  spend- 
ing too  much  time,  far  too  much  time,  on  this  kind  of  thing. 
...  I  am  indeed  surprised  that  a  clergyman  should  occupy 
himself  with  such  trifles." 

Three  months  later,  Kirk,  with  highly  pleasurable  anti- 
cipation, opened  the  first  copy  he  had  ever  possessed  of  the 
Geological  Institute  Journal.  Mr.  Blenk  had  sent  it  with- 
out a  note — Kirk  knew  the  book  contained  his  own  paper. 
He  found  the  place,  glanced,  and  went  pale.  Most  piercing 
grief  seized  him  for  a  moment.  Then  a  tumult  of  great 
anger  and  resentment,  utter  exasperation,  humiliation,  and 
a  ferocious  will  to  revenge,  raged  in  him. 

The  discovery  was  recorded,  the  paper  printed,  in  the 
name  of  the  Rev.  James  Blenk,  F.R.S.,  etc.  There  was 
no  mention  whatever  of  Kirk.  He  sat  down  and  wrote  a 
short  letter  to  Blenk.  He  informed  him  that  he  was  "a  liar, 
a  blackguard,  a  ca<J,  a  thief,  and  a  typical  minister  of  God." 
He  finished  it,  "Yours  detestingly."  He  then  wrote  several 
long  letters  to  London,  and  in  each  gave  an  exact  and  full 
account  of  all  that  had  been  done. 

To  prevent  scandal,  the  authorities  after  some  delay  wrote 
Kirk  very  sympathetically  and  pointed  out  the  age  and  grey 
hairs  of  Mr.  Blenk,  and  promised  to  set  things  right  in  some 
way;  and,  later  on,  at  the  meeting  of  the  British  Scientific 
Association  of  that  year,  the  novo  species  were  publicly 
named,  one  of  them  after  Kirk.  But  his  hero-worship  of 
scientists  had  for  the  time  utterly  departed.  He  went  once 


114  THE   BOKN   FOOL 

more  to  the  ravine.  He  carefully  dug  away  or  hid  all  traces 
of  the  place  of  his  discovery,  and  he  spent  a  long  time  in  re- 
planting the  disturbed  and  cleared  ledges  with  moss,  grass, 
and  seedlings.  With  thorns  he  filled  up  the  little  paths  and 
apertures  he  had  cut,  and  he  closed  up  the  way  to  the  place 
of  the  shells — a  short  way  that  he  had  cut  upwards  from  be- 
low, and  up  which  he  had  helped  Mr.  Blenk  with  great  diffi- 
culty. In  this  ledge-path  he  now  balanced  some  great  stones, 
in  the  evil  hope  that  one  might  tip  over  and  throw  his  enemy 
into  the  chasm  and  the  water,  should  he  attempt  to  revisit  the 
spot.  Alas!  that  lonely,  strange,  and  beautiful  place  was 
all  spoilt  for  Kirk.  Never  again  would  he  wish  to  go  to  the 
ravine. 

This  affair  led  to  Kirk's  third  and  last  quarrel  with  his 
father.  Blenk  wrote  a  copious  letter  to  the  son,  complaining 
of  the  shocking  language  he  had  used,  and  arguing  that  it 
did  not  matter  in  whose  name  the  discovery  was  set  down,  and 
that  he  had  told  every  one  that  Kirk  had  participated  in  it 
— in  fact,  had  been  perhaps  the  chief  actor  in  the  matter, 
which  was,  however,  only  of  trifling  import  in  any  case,  and 
certainly  did  not  from  any  point  of  view  merit  the  use  of 
the  disgraceful  language  Mr.  Clinton  had  seen  fit  to  address 
to  an  aged  clergyman ;  to  one  who  had  helped  him — one  who 
had  felt  an  interest  in  him,  invited  him  into  his  house,  and 
even  made  him  gifts.  He  was  very  grieved  to  receive  such 
ingratitude  from  a  young  man. 

This  letter  Kirk  found  prominently  placed  on  the  dining- 
room  table;  and  as  he  took  it,  he  thought  his  father  looked 
strangely  at  him. 

Two  days  later,  at  lunch,  Kirk  asked  his  father — 

"Mary  and  myself  are  asked  to  the  Moresbys'  private 
theatricals  on  Thursday ;  may  we  be  out  till  eleven,  father  ?" 

"JNo,  sir !  you  may  not."  .  .  .  Mr.  Clinton  was  preparing 
to  carve,  and  stood  up.  He  held  the  knife  and  steel  in  his 
Lands. 


THE   BORN   FOOL  115 

"...  Why  not,  father  ?" 

"Because  you  have  disgraced  yourself.  You  have  written 
an  insulting  letter  to  an  aged  clergyman." 

Kirk  stood  up  opposite  his  father,  leaned  forward,  fixed 
his  eyes  upon  his  father's,  and  spoke  slowly. 

"How  dare  you  open  my  letter  ?  .  .  .  I  now  think  the  same 
of  you  both." 

Mr.  Clinton's  face  changed,  he  looked  down,  the  position 
was  very  awkward. 

"You  .  .  .  you  viper !"  said  he.  He  struck  his  son's  hand 
with  the  steel ;  but  his  son  did  not  move,  and  the  blood  ran 
on  the  table-cloth.  Mr.  Clinton  unexpectedly  flung  the  steel 
down  and  left  the  room. 

"Oh,  Kirk!  this  is  so  horrible,"  said  Mary  reproachfully, 
pale  and  greatly  distressed. 

"He's  a  cad,  and  he  knows  he's  been  a  cad,  and  we'll  have 
lunch  now,  dear,"  said  Kirk,  trembling  with  passion.  He 
tied  a  handkerchief  round  his  hand,  carved,  and  attempted 
to  eat. 

After  this  unhappy  event  Kirk  and  his  father  did  not  speak 
to  each  other,  unless  it  were  unavoidable.  But  the  son  con- 
tinued to  obey  his  father's  house-rules,  with  a  few  exceptions. 

Kirk  now  was  reading  in  secret  the  works  of  Darwin, 
Drummond,  Wallace,  and  the  geologists;  but  his  thoughts 
turned  more  and  more  to  the  beauty,  mystery,  wonder,  and 
sadness  of  nature,  apart  from  apes  or  men.  He  began  to 
view  all  religion  in  a  different  light ;  he  began  to  despise  and 
dismiss  it.  Mankind  as  a  whole  took  on  a  sordid  aspect,  and 
nature  seemed  ever  the  more  beautiful  and  beloved.  He  lived 
in  dreams,  poetry,  strange  beliefs  and  thoughts,  unusual  sur- 
mise, feelings  of  superiority  of  soul  and  mind,  solitary 
ecstasies — and  he  read  more  and  more  extensively  in  Landor, 
Macaulay,  Emerson,  Eroude,  Carlyle,  George  Eliot,  Paul 
Jean  Richter,  and  Eranz  Hartmann.  But  above  all  these 
he  read,  re-read,  pondered  on,  and  loved  Richard  Jefferies, 


116  THE   BORN   FOOL 

the  one  and  sole  apostle  of  earth-life  outside  the  human  race ; 
perhaps  the  only  man  of  genius  who  ever  consciously  in- 
carnated his  soul  in  all  those  beautiful  living  things  not  hu- 
man ;  for  Richard  Jefferies  both  saw  and  left  the  "pageant  of 
summer,"  as  might  sense  and  live  in  it  a  wild  flower,  or  a 
nightingale. 


CHAPTER  XV 

MR.  CLINTON  articled  his  second  son  as  a  pupil  to 
himself,  the  term  being  for  three  years.  Kirk  had 
made  no  objection.  There  had  been  no  alternative.  In- 
heriting from  his  father  and  his  grandfather,  he  took  easily 
to  civil  engineering.  He  learned  quickly  to  use  with  skill 
and  accuracy  the  level  and  theodolite.  Drawings  of  the  most 
complex  nature  he  soon  made,  or  read  with  facility.  But  de- 
sign, creation  of  things,  alone  held  any  real  interest  for  him. 
The  early  glamour  of  the  profession  soon  passed  away,  and 
he  viewed  his  work  solely  as  a  means  of  livelihood.  In  de- 
sign only  did  he  obtain  pleasure,  and  in  design  he  was,  like 
his  father,  markedly  inventive,  fertile,  resourceful,  and  rapid. 
His  pupilship  was  now  nearly  finished.  Life  with  his  father, 
both  in  office  and  at  home,  was  become  very  irksome,  most 
limiting.  .  For  nearly  three  years  these  two  had  travelled 
together  daily  between  Severnly  and  the  office.  Clinton  used 
the  first  class,  and  provided  Kirk  with  third-class  travel. 
The  reserve  between  father  and  son  had  not  been  broken. 
There  was  scarcely  a  subject  apart  from  business  on  which 
they  could  converse.  Kirk  chafed  and  suffered  more  and 
more  under  the  severe  material,  financial,  mental,  and 
spiritual  restraints  forced  on  him  by  the  strong  will  and  pe- 
culiar views  of  his  father.  He  was  now  determined  to  leave 
home  at  the  first  opportunity,  and  forever  free  himself  from 
his  father. 

To  this  end  he  now  made  effort  after  effort.  He  wrote 
many  letters,  and  applied  for  every  appointment  he  thought 
he  could  undertake.  But  he  was  not  successful.  Good  posts 
are  always  obtained  by  influence. 

117 


118  THE   BOKN   FOOL 

His  father  still  had  valuable  influence  in  Victoria  Street, 
but  would  not  exert  himself  even  a  little  to  use  it  on  Kirk's 
behalf.  It  was  too  much  trouble  to  take :  his  son  should  not 
go  "to  that  hot-bed  of  vice,  London ;"  he  would  get  him  some- 
thing himself,  when  the  boy  knew  more.  For  in  Clinton's 
eyes  Kirk  was  still  only  a  boy. 

Then  there  was  the  true  motive — Mr.  Clinton  had  during 
the  past  two  years  found  Kirk  more  and  more  useful  in  his 
own  office.  He  thought  he  could  ill  dispense  with  him  just 
now ;  really,  it  would  be  very  annoying.  It  was  best  for  his 
son  to  live  at  home  for  the  present.  The  peculiar  parsimony 
of  Clinton  was  now  becoming  strongly  rooted.  He  did  not 
like  parting  with  money — especially  to  son  or  daughter.  He 
had  no  conception  of  their  wants  or  of  their  feelings.  He 
had  never  pictured  himself  in  some  one  else's  place  or  cir- 
cumstance. He  had  no  imagination  in  matters  emotional  or 
spiritual.  Only  in  civil  engineering  problems  did  he  use 
imagination.  This  lack  was  his  great  defect  in  life,  for  it 
shut  him  out  from  understanding  others.  It  made  him  both 
act  and  seem  very  much  more  selfish  than  in  truth  he  was. 
The  loss  of  Agnes,  his  wife,  had  for  him  been  a  cruel  ca- 
lamity. The  bereavement  had  been  for  him  the  setting-in 
of  winter,  the  end  of  interest  in  all  present  human  life. 
In  nothing  did  he  take  real  pleasure.  Moths  had  destroyed 
the  covers  of  his  fine  fly  rods ;  and  he  lived  wholly  reserved 
and  self-absorbed,  either  in  theological  abstractions,  or  in  his 
civil  engineering  and  matters  of  routine.  Of  late  years 
Clinton  had  but  once  or  twice  deviated  from  the  narrow 
road  of  life  he  followed.  On  the  last  occasion  he  had  been 
shown,  and  had  closely  examined,  a  small  kinematograph,  at 
that  time  a  new  invention.  This  was  at  the  house  of  an 
American,  a  very  wealthy  member  of  the  Church,  who  re-, 
cently  had  married  and  settled  in  England.  Mr.  Clinton 
woke  up  as  it  were  at  dinner  one  night  and  described  the 
apparatus  to  Mary  and  Kirk.  Novel  things  of  that  kind  had 
attracted  him  in  his  young  days.  Somewhere  in  the  house 


THE    BOKN    FOOL  119 

lay  long-forgotten  models  of  telephones,  radiometers,  and 
dynamos.  In  the  lumber-room  were  several  antiquated 
cameras  and  a  magic  lantern.  One  evening  Kirk  and  Mary 
were  astonished  at  the  actual  arrival  of  a  kinematograph,  all 
complete,  with  heavy  steel  cylinders  containing  gas,  a  bun- 
dle of  rubber  tubes,  and  half  a  dozen  boxes  of  accessories. 
At  first  Kirk  took  some  natural  interest  in  this  thing,  but 
presently  he  discovered  the  apparatus  was  not  lent,  but  had 
been  bought  outright  by  his  father,  and  the  cost  ran  well  over 
a  hundred  pounds.  A  month  later  the  kinematograph  stood 
covered  with  dust  in  a  corner  of  the  library,  but  more  than 
once  Mr.  Clinton  spoke  of  it.  He  intended,  he  said,  to  ob- 
tain films  showing  the  perfect  manipulation  and  deposition 
of  concretes,  the  drilling  and  blasting  of  tunnels,  the  raising 
and  placing  of  bridge-girders,  the  flow  of  water  through  ori- 
fices and  over  various  weirs ;  the  action  of  steam-navvies,  the 
manufacture  of  steel,  the  stamping  machinery  of  mines — and 
he  would  then  lecture  "like  those  Americans" — there  was  a 
great  deal  of  money  to  be  made  in  that  way,  said  he.  But 
he  did  nothing  more,  and  the  dust  of  a  second  month  ac- 
cumulated on  the  apparatus,  for  it  was  forbidden  to  be 
touched  by  any  one.  When  Clinton  next  spoke  of  it,  uncon- 
sciously desiring  his  listeners'  sympathy — the  almost  penni- 
less Kirk  burned  with  secret  anger,  and  showed  his  contempt 
silently,  by  his  expressionless  face,  and  by  his  icy  lack  of 
interest,  all  of  which  his  father  noted.  Later  in  the  evening 
Kirk  was  absent  without  leave  from  prayers,  and  his  father 
told  Mary  that  her  brother  was  "a  callous,  and,  I  much  fear, 
an  unspiritual  youth;"  and  though  she  was  so  young,  Kirk's 
sister  had  learned  it  would  be  useless  to  protest.  As  a  rule, 
she  did  not  answer  her  father  when  he  said  these  things,  but 
often  she  felt  it  a  duty  to  ask  Kirk  not  to  rail  so  bitterly ;  for 
Kirk  had  developed  a  biting  criticism,  and  saw  no  good  in 
his  father.  The  young  man  had  forgotten  the  father's  brav- 
ery and  achievements — for  which,  as  a  boy,  he  had  given 
genuine  respect.  But  personal  bravery  appeals  with  greatest 


120  THE   BOKN   FOOL 

force  to  women  and  children,  and  Kirk  was  now  almost  a 
man. 

True,  Kirk  found  it  impossible  not  to  admire  his  father's 
inborn  skill  and  resource  as  an  engineer ;  but  in  ordinary  life 
he  thought  him  most  selfish,  hypocritical,  and  narrow-minded. 

It  is  not  good  for  young  engineers  to  be  articled  to  their 
own  fathers  unless  later  on  they  are  going  into  partnership. 
This  possibly  had  been  Clinton's  idea  three  years  ago,  but 
now  he,  too,  felt  the  incompatibility  between  himself  and 
Kirk. 

When  a  "pupil"  has  served  articles  for  three  or  four  years, 
the  testimonial  and  influence  of  the  engineer  under  whom 
he  has  learnt  and  served  is  of  great  importance  in  securing 
a  first  appointment.  But,  unaided  by  influence,  of  what 
value  in  the  open  market  is  the  testimonial  of  a  father? 

Kirk  had  written  to  a  public  works  contractor,  a  success- 
ful man  who  once  had  done  work  under  Mr.  Clinton  both  in 
France  and  England.  After  waiting  a  month  Kirk  had 
given  up  hope  of  a  reply. 

But  during  breakfast  on  a  Monday  morning  in  April, 
Kirk's  father,  after  turning  a  letter  over  to  examine  the  post- 
mark, handed  it  to  Kirk,  and  watched  suspiciously  while  his 
son  read  the  contents,  which  were  as  follows: — 

"Mr.  K.  Clinton,  "London,  April  2nd,  19    . 

"C/o  Richard  Clinton,  Esq.,  M.I.C.E.,  M.I.M.E.,  etc. 
"The  'Gates/ 

"Severnly. 
"DEAR  SIR.— 

"I  can  offer  you  a  small  berth  as  resident  engineer  on  the  Ciren- 
hampton  Water  Scheme. 

"Until  I  know  what  you  can  do,  your  salary  would  be  at  the  rate 
of  sixty-five  pounds  (£65)  per  annum.  If  you  are  prepared  to  ac- 
cept this  offer,  please  write  me  forthwith  and  say  if  you  can  report 
yourself  at  Cirenhampton  (L.  &  S.  W.  Ry.)  by  mid-day  on  Monday 
next. 

"Please  give  my  kind  regards  to  your  father.    I  trust  he  is  well. 

"Yours  truly, 

"JAMES  BENDIGO." 


THE   BORN   FOOL  121 

Kirk,  cold  and  restrained  in  his  father's  presence — but 
highly  delighted — handed  the  letter  to  him. 

"I've  got  a  berth,  father.     Cirenhampton  Waterworks." 

Mr.  Clinton  read  the  note,  put  it  down,  and  said,  incisively, 
"You  have  secured  an  appointment,  is  better  English:  the 
name  is  pronounced  $tsshampton."  He  went  on  with  his 
breakfast. 

Mr.  Clinton  presently  looked  across  the  table  at  his  son 
and  noted  the  risen  colour,  sparkling  eyes,  and  suppressed 
excitement.  Should  he  prevent  him  .  .  .  ?  Write  to  old  Mr. 
Bendigo  .  .  .  ?  He  did  not  admit  it,  but  he  felt  his  son 
would  resist  him,  to  some  violent  extreme,  perhaps,  most 
probably.  He  supposed  then  .  .  .  as  he  finished  his  break- 
fast, that  Kirkpatrick  must  really  go.  It  meant  he  would 
have  to  employ  and  pay  an  extra  assistant  engineer.  It  was 
far  too  unlikely  that  he  would  find  another  pupil  as  clever 
as  Kirkpatrick. 

Having  come  to  this  conclusion,  a  new  thought  arose,  and 
after  a  moment's  mental  calculation,  he  spoke  it — 

"Twenty-five  shillings  each  week;  you  can  keep  yourself 
very  well  on  that;  young  men  should  not  have  too  much 
money."  This  was  his  sole  remark  for  the  present. 

As  soon  as  prayers  were  over,  and  after  Kirk  had  spoken 
cheerily  in  the  hall  to  Mary,  he  rushed  off  to  the  station, 
and  three-quarters  of  an  hour  later  he  burst  excitedly  into 
his  father's  drawing  office,  waving  the  letter — 

"Cirenhampton  Water  Scheme!  Hurrah,  you  fellows! 
I'm  off  at  last!  out  of  this  rotten  life" 

The  assistant  engineers  and  the  two  pupils  read  the  letter, 
and  gave  him  congratulations,  for  they  all  liked  him;  he 
would  always  help  a  fellow  in  his  work;  he  could  always 
interpret  Mr.  Clinton's  ideas,  and  they  were  all  rather  afraid 
of  their  chief.  Twenty-five  shillings  per  week  seemed  very 
much  more  to  Kirk  than  to  his  brother-pupils,  whom  money 
matters  had  never  troubled,  for  their  parents  were  fairly 
wealthy  and  were  normal. 


122  THE   BOKN   FOOL 

Calming  down  a  little,  Kirk  wrote  on  his  father's  special 
paper  a  letter  to  accept  the  appointment.  He  posted  this 
precious  letter  himself,  and  then  at  once  returned  home,  for 
his  father  was  to  attend  a  diaconal  meeting  that  afternoon 
and  would  not  go  to  the  city. 

For  five  years  past  Mr.  Clinton  had  refused  his  son  a  suffi- 
ciency of  clothes  and  money,  and  Kirk  often  had  felt  keenly 
the  shabbiness  of  his  own  clothing.  He  had  been  too  sensi- 
tive and  proud  to  write  Mrs.  Athorpe  on  the  subject.  Be- 
sides, since  his  mother's  death,  she  had  never  been  invited 
to  the  "Gates."  Indeed,  the  family  had  become  very  isolated. 
Even  the  ministers  seldom  came  now  to  dine  at  Severnly. 

Kirk  forthwith  needed  ready  money,  and  he  feared  his 
father's  refusal.  The  matter  would  have  to  be  settled  at 
once.  Mr.  Clinton  had  not  gone  out,  so  Kirk  went  to  him, 
and  spoke  respectfully — 

"I  shall  want  a  little  money,  father ;  you  see  I  don't  possess 
a  decent  suit  of  clothes,  nor  have  I  a  box  or  portmanteau — 
Edward  and  I  always  shared  one  before  he  went  away.  I 
don't  want  to  go  there  like  a  beggar;  then  I  have  only  just 
enough  for  the  railway  fare,  and  I  shall  have  to  live  until  I 
draw  my  first  pay  .  .  .  and  I  shall  never  again  cost  you  any- 
thing." 

While  Kirk  spoke,  his  father  had  fidgeted  crossly,  and  he 
now  flung  down  a  morning  paper  and  stood  up.  For  a  mo- 
ment he  scanned  Kirk. 

"What  is  amiss  with  your  clothes,  sir  ?" 

"The  trousers  are  nearly  through  at  the  knees,  father, 
look ;  and  they  are  all  frayed  at  the  bottom — Mary  has  darned 
them  twice — you  see,  father  ?"  said  Kirk,  exhibiting  the  back 
of  his  trouser  legs,  and  he  added,  "They  are  quite  green,  you 
see ;  they  look  so  very  shabby,  and  they  are  so  short  and  small 
all  over.  The  coat  is  no  better .  .  .  . " 

His  father  reddened ;  he  hated  to  be  bothered  in  this  way ; 
it  did  not  at  all  trouble  him  that  his  son  was  shabby;  he 
had  no  idea  how  it  felt  to  be  shabby.  He  could  not  see  that 


THE   BOKN    FOOL  123 

so  trivial  a  thing  mattered  for  a  boy ;  but  he  sought  for  words. 
It  always  angered  him  to  find  the  least  opposition  to  the 
powerful  ascendancy  he  had  exercised  for  so  many  years  over 
his  family. 

With  difficulty  restraining  his  impatience,  he  spoke,  "You 
do  not  need  good  clothes  on  engineering  works,"  and  he 
added  with  a  superior  contempt,  "No  one  will  expect  you  to 
arrive  looking  like  a  perfect  dandy." 

"I  don't  look  very  much  like  a  dandy  now,  father,"  said 
Kirk,  dispassionately,  and  he  turned  his  frayed  trousers  more 
into  view,  looked  at  them,  and  stood  there  patiently.  Neither 
spoke  for  a  few  seconds.  His  father  sat  down,  took  up  the 
paper,  and  attempted  to  read  it. 

" .  .  .If  you  will  lend  me  a  few  pounds,  I  can  get  all  I 
want,  and  I  will  pay  you  back  all  right,  father.  I  give  you 
my  word  of  honour  .  .  .  you  know  that  I  would." 

Kirk  waited,  and  his  father  raised  the  paper  brusquely, 
lowered  it  again,  and  said — 

"It  is  a  wrong  principle,  Kirkpatrick."  Gripping  the 
paper  with  both  hands,  he  shook  it  fiercely  to  emphasize  the 
remark  as  he  repeated  it.  But  he  did  not  meet  Kirk's  eyes. 

"Hundreds  of  young  men  are  ruined  every  year  by  bor- 
rowing. No;  I  cannot  go  lending  you  money  at  the  outset 
of  your  career.  No.  •  You  will  be  receiving  your  regular 
salary ;  then  you  can  get  any  luxuries  you  like.  I  have  kept 
you  and  fed  you  for  nineteen  years ;  plenty  of  boys  are  earn- 
ing their  living  at  ten  years  of  age ;  I  am  short  of  money  at 
present,  very  short ;  I  have  no  money  to  lend  people." 

"Well,  father,  I  can't  go  there  like  this,"  persisted  Kirk, 
looking  away,  "and  at  present  I  have  only  a  few  shillings 
of  my  own."  His  father  wanted  to  read  the  paper;  he  was 
being  interrupted  most  tiresomely ;  the  subject  of  money  had 
always  been  one  highly  distasteful ;  the  mantelpiece  was  lit- 
tered more  than  ever  with  sheaves  of  unpaid  accounts.  Mr. 
Clinton  suddenly  felt  a  hot  irritation ;  red  cords  rose  on  his 


124  THE   BORN"   FOOL 

forehead ;  he  sat  up  rigidly,  and  stammered  a  moment  before 
he  spoke. 

"The — the — the  youth  of  this  age  is  pampered  and  dis- 
obedient, a  stubborn-and-rebellious-generation ;  if  you  were  in 
the  backwoods-of- America,  you  would  be  thankful  to  be  well 
clothed,  and  have  a  good-horn e-to-shelter  you !" 

Kirk  replied  with  an  attempt  at  good  humour,  "Good  Lord, 
father!  you  must  see  we  are  not  in  the  backwoods  of 
America !" 

But  his  father  angrily  jumped  up.  "How  dare  you  use 
that  expression  ?  I  will  have  no  swearing  here.  'Thou  shalt 
not  take  the  name-of-the-Lord-thy-God-in-vain !'  Remember- 
that!"  fiercely  cried  he.  He  threw  the  paper  down,  glared 
at  his  son's  cold,  sarcastic  face,  and  rapped  out,  "I  know 
fathers  who  would  take-the-skin-off-your-back,  old-as-you-are- 
Sir!" 

Kirk  looked  at  his  father  and  then  turned  slowly,  mutter- 
ing something  to  himself  as  he  left  the  room.  He  shut  the 
door  too  sharply.  It  was  instantly  re-opened;  his  father 
called  after  him,  "I  shall  be  glad  when  you  leave  this  house ; 
you  have  always  stirred  up  your  brother  and  sister  to-rebel- 
against-their-f ather !  You  have  an  evil  and  callous  mind !" 

Kirk  stood  a  moment  to  sneer  the  words  "Minister  of 
God !" — and  then  he  left  the  house. 

In  the  afternoon  Kirk  went  into  Severnly  to  see  his 
father's  tailor.  He  would  get  clothes  without  his  father's 
consent. 

"Mr.  Cubell,  I'm  leaving  home  next  Monday,  and  I  want 
you  to  make  me  a  suit,  as  quickly  as  possible,  light  tweed  of 
some  kind." 

"Certainly,  Sir.  I'll  just  show  you  what  we  are  doing  a 
good  many  gentlemen  in  at  present." 

He  began  to  pull  out  rolls  of  fine  Cheviot,  unfolding  them, 
and  wrapping  them  round  his  plump  leg  to  show  their  ap- 
pearance. 


THE    BORN    FOOL  125 

Kirk  was  greatly  annoyed  to  feel  a  kind  of  inferiority  in 
this  large,  quiet,  well-lit,  particularly  prosperous  shop;  he 
hoped  no  one  else  would  come  in  while  he  was  there.  Here 
it  was  so  painfully  obvious  that  he  lacked  clothes.  He  had 
read  the  "Clothes  Philosophy" ;  but  philosophy  does  not  sup- 
port the  young.  It  is  only  a  grim  solace  to  the  intellectual, 
when  broken  in  spirit.  Kirk  was  by  no  means  broken  in 
spirit,  but  he  was  very  sensitive. 

Mr.  Cubell  had  taken  his  measure  carefully  in  more  ways 
than  one.  He  had  curtly  transmitted  his  tape  figures  to  a 
smart  assistant  in  a  large  kind  of  glass  and  mahogany  box; 
and  now  he  kindly  and  cleverly  manoeuvred  his  customer  be- 
yond the  ears  of  this  assistant  until  Kirk  and  himself  stood 
near  the  shop  doors. 

"You  must  please  excuse  me,  Mr.  Clinton;  but  do  you 
intend  to  pay  for  this  order  before  you  go  away  ?" 

"No,  Cubell;  I  can't;  I  want  you  to  put  it  down  to  my 
father's  account." 

Mr.  Cubell  slowly  folded  his  arms,  and  leaned  back  against 
his  counter ;  he  looked  down  and  said  gravely — 

"I'm  very  sorry,  Sir,  but  I  really  can't  do  that.  You  see 
your  father  owes  me  money  now.  I  look  on  it  as  a  bad  debt ; 
perhaps  you  don't  know,  Sir,  that  your  father  didn't  place 
his  last  order  here  ?  .  .  .  After  the  years  I've  done  for  him." 

Kirk,  likewise  looking  down,  had  blushed  slowly  to  his 
ears,  "the  dark  unbecoming  blush  of  a  man." 

"No.  I  didn't  know  that.  Well,  Mr.  Cubell,  will  you 
make  them  for  me,  and  let  me  pay  you  as  soon  as  I  can,  say 
in  three  months  ?" 

The  spruce  old  man  looked  searchingly  at  Kirk,  at  the 
truthful  grey  eyes,  and  was  about  to  say  yes,  for  he  felt  that 
he  could  trust  him;  but  Kirk,  already  outraged  and  hu- 
miliated, stung  to  the  quick  by  this  pause,  abruptly  said, 
"Good  morning,  Cubell,"  and  left  the  shop,  smarting  with 
vexation  and  shame,  and,  as  he  walked,  he  cursed  his  father. 


126  THE    BORN   FOOL 

He  imagined  how  differently  himself  would  treat  a  son.  Oh, 
how  differently ! 

The  "Old  Lane"  was  a  much  longer  way  back  to  the 
"Gates,"  but  it  was  secluded. 

On  the  way  home  he  decided  he  would  have  to  sell  his 
geological  collection.  Anything  rather  than  ask  some  one  to 
lend  him  money,  be  refused,  and  go  again  through  the  hu- 
miliation he  had  felt  in  that  shop. 

Immediately  after  lunch  Kirk  went  to  a  young  geological 
friend  who  was  well  supplied  with  money,  and  who  often 
had  bought  duplicates  from  Kirk's  collection.  They  had 
together  sometimes  made  excursions,  and  Kirk,  ever  willing 
and  eager  to  impart  any  knowledge  he  possessed,  had  taught 
him  the  elements  of  stratigraphy,  and  how  to  proceed  in  the 
field,  map  in  hand.  In  return,  young  Minnitt  now  and  then 
lent  Kirk  his  cycle,  and  thus  enabled  him  to  visit  distant 
fields  of  search. 

"Minnitt,  you  can  have  my  collection  for  five  pounds  if 
you  will  buy  it  to-day;  I  am  leaving  home,  and  want  some 
money;  in  fact,  I  must  have  it." 

"No  1 1  Going  away  ?  Why,  where  are  you  going  to, 
Clinny,  old  man  ?  What's  the  geology  like  ?" 

Kirk  gave  him  some  particulars,  and  then  passed  lightly 
over  the  fatherly  interview. 

"As  to  geology,  it  will  be  in  the  Chalk  and  Eocene." 

"By  Jove!  the  Eocene !  lucky  beggar !"  exclaimed  Minnitt, 
and  they  shortly  returned  to  the  "Gates,"  and  went  up  to 
Kirk's  bedroom,  where  he  kept  his  collection. 

He  had  there  fitted  up  a  number  of  heavy  shelves,  on  which 
were  arranged,  in  perfect  scientific  order,  some  two  thousand 
specimens. 

To  obtain  these  Kirk  had  walked  hundreds  and  hundreds 
of  miles.  He  had  found  with  his  own  eyes  and  fingers  the 
great  majority.  A  small  number  were  absolutely  unique; 
and  of  these  he  had  made  casts,  colouring  and  finishing  them 


THE    BORN    FOOL  127 

by  his  own  methods  and  with  such  uncommon  artistic  skill 
that  only  by  actual  handling  could  geologists  themselves  de- 
tect the  real  from  the  unreal. 

Kirk  gave  generously,  and  some  of  his  beautiful  casts  may 
still  be  seen  in  several  national  museums. 

Every  one  of  these  silent  things  on  the  shelves  had  its 
own  associations,  its  glamour,  a  place  in  his  imagination,  and 
in  his  affection. 

For  Kirk,  an  endearment  of  recollection  clung  to  each  of 
these  slowly-garnered  treasures.  To  him  alone,  they  spoke 
of  many  a  long,  happy,  and  often  solitary  day  spent  in  the 
friendly  countryside,  for  twenty  miles  around.  Some  were 
gifts  from  great  geologists ;  and  all  were  cherished,  labelled, 
dusted,  and  brooded  over  as  he  dressed  or  undressed.  !N"o  one 
touched  them  but  himself.  The  vision  of  these  one-time 
ferns  and  insects,  of  these  fish,  trilobites,  old  pearly  nautili 
and  reptiles  of  ancient  seas,  fascinated  Kirk,  and  filled  him 
with  deep  thought  when  he  dreamed  over  them,  or  with  hap- 
piness when  he  remembered  the  silent,  beautiful  woodlands, 
under  which,  after  their  remotely  past  life,  they  had  come 
to  find  a  resting-place. 

To  Kirk,  geology  was  a  noble  field  for  vast  imaginations. 
It  was  indeed  the  second  science,  ranking  second  only  to  the 
human  penetrations  of  eternal  space. 

He  had  absorbed  the  scientific  side  of  geology  with  marked 
intuitional  ease;  but  the  solemn  order,  the  profound  vision 
of  the  procession  of  ancient  upward  life,  the  mightier  hori- 
zons evoked — these  he  dwelt  on  with  secret  intense  thought. 
And  often  the  exceeding  sadness  of  the  ever-passed-away 
overcame  him. 

He  had  collected  since  he  was  a  boy  of  twelve. 

A  great  piece  of  ammonite  weighing  twenty-five  pounds 
had  been  brought  here  on  his  back,  carried  by  stages  fifteen 
miles  one  frozen  day  of  March.  A  much  heavier  slab,  splen- 
didly ripple-marked,  and  pitted  by  heavy  drops  of  rain  that 
fell  millions  of  years  before  the  dawn  of  man — this,  Kirk 


128  THE   BORN   FOOL 

had  brought  home  by  sledge  over  seven  miles  of  ice-bound 
canal.  Here,  too,  on  a  special  shelf,  were  the  few  and  rare 
treasures  garnered  from  the  long  search  in  the  ravine. 

All  these  neatly-spread  small  things,  these  heavy-written 
slabs  set  on  edge  in  the  best  light,  had  been  personally  car- 
ried here,  along  miles  and  miles  of  the  roads  or  lanes  that 
radiated  from  Severnly  town  towards  Tewkesbury,  Halvern, 
Bredon  and  Pendock  in  the  south,  to  the  Liassie  Shakespeare 
border  of  old  Warwickshire  on  the  east,  and  towards  Ledbury, 
far  westward. 

Kirk  had  brought  some  of  them  even  from  those  dis- 
tant hills  that  look  down  on  the  battlefields  of  Edge  Hill, 
and  from  the  new  distant  collieries  northwards — that  rose 
amid  yet  unsullied  cowslips  and  hawthorn  blossom  in  their 
seasons.  But  especially  had  Kirk  roamed  the  deep  clayey 
lands  of  the  Blue  Lias,  where  the  limekilns  send  their  smoke- 
drifts  trailing  away  over  the  treeless  meadows.  And,  gazing 
on  his  treasures,  he  remembered  many  a  secluded  rocky  face, 
yellow  or  red,  hidden  far  away  in  the  rich  woodlands  of 
Arden  and  the  Worcestershire  border,  that  he  had  sought 
out,  examined,  and  mused  upon. 

Ambitions  had  grown  in  Kirk  to  make  such  a  collection 
that  it  would  be  acceptable  in  part  or  in  whole  by  the  national 
museums,  when  the  time  came.  He  knew  already  that  his 
ravine  fossils  were  all  most  rare,  and  would  be  gratefully 
accepted  by  any  national  museum  in  the  world. 

On  this  important,  fateful  day,  he  stood  still,  and  with 
troubled  eyes  scanned  his  favourite  specimens.  They  were 
so  much  more  than  scientific  to  him.  He  felt,  now  it  came 
to  the  pinch,  that  he  could  not  possibly  part  with  some  among 
them.  In  his  long  fingers  he  took  up  the  small  pink  slab 
which  held  his  two  novo  species,  the  rhynconella,  which  had 
been  named  after  him,  and  was  one  of  those  specimens  he 
meant  to  keep.  He  laid  the  small  slab  upon  his  bed.  The 
faintly  impressed  shells  on  the  slab  were  new  to  the  world — 


THE    BORN    FOOL  129 

two  new  species  on  one  bit  of  pale  pink  shale !  He  chose  also 
some  slender  brown  dorsal  spines  of  fish,  and  a  few  of  the 
opal-like  palatal  teeth.  These  spines  and  teeth  were  very 
great  rarities.  Beside  them  he  laid  the  perfect,  large,  seal- 
like  paddle  of  a  baby  plesiosaurus — of  a  baby  sea  lizard. 
Also  he  put  aside  one  fine  fragment  of  a  silicified  Permian 
conifer — an  archaic  pine-tree.  This  fossil  wood  had  been 
polished  laboriously  by  Kirk,  so  that  now  it  showed  all  the 
structure  of  wood,  though  harder  than  steel,  and  exquisitely 
coloured  as  a  precious  agate  by  the  pink,  yellow,  black  and 
brown  silica. 

"Everything  else  you  can  have,  Minnitt." 

"Oh !  but  by  Jove,  Clinton,  you  know  ...  I  had  counted 
absolutely  on  having  this,  and  this."  He  fingered  carefully 
those  things  laid  on  the  bed. 

"Dash  it,  man !  As  it  is  you  are  getting  a  huge  bargain. 
Why!  that  ichthyosaurus  head  alone  is  worth  I  don't  know 
what !  .  .  .  However,  I  cannot  let  these  be  lost ;  it  would  be  a 
sin.  I  cannot  do  it.  They  go  to  London  to-morrow." 

"But  they're  just  the  very  best  things  you  have." 

Kirk  paused,  his  anger  rose;  he  loathed  meanness,  and  he 
knew  Minnitt  understood  the  position. 

He  began  to  wrap  up  his  chosen  things,  each  separately,  in 
plenty  of  soft  paper. 

"Well,  Minnitt,  I  shall  send  them  every  one  to  the  mu- 
seums unless  you  take  the  crowd  as  they  are  .  .  .  though  I 
don't  know  what  the  devil  to  do  for  money." 

"Four-pounds-ten,"  said  Minnitt. 

"No;  five." 

"I  won't  give  you  more  than  four-fifteen,"  said  Minnitt 
— always  his  father's  son. 

Kirk  walked  away,  looked  out  of  the  window,  came  back, 
and  said,  "Very  well,  I  accept  that." 

"Eight!" 

"Very  well.  I'll  begin  wrapping  them  up  for  you,  we 
can  get  them  downstairs  and  away  by  four  o'clock  or  so." 


130  THE    BORN   FOOL 

"I  shall  not  take  anything  else  out  of  the  collection,  Min- 
nitt," added  Kirk,  austerely. 

"Oh,  no,  no !  I  know  that,  old  man.  I'll  go  now  and  get 
the  money  from  the  mater.  I'm  not  paying  it  out  of  my 
own  pocket,  and  I'll  bring  our  gardener  along  at  once  with 
a  barrow  and  he  can  keep  fetching  them." 

Half-an-hour  later,  while  the  two  wrapped  the  fossils  up, 
using  quantities  of  old  newspaper,  Kirk  said :  "Minnitt,  you 
will  not  go  and  let  these  things  be  lost  and  thrown  into  some 
old  box-room,  will  you?" 

"Rather  not!" 

"If  you  ever  get  tired  of  them,  will  you  send  the  best  to 
London  ?  Or  let  me  know  ?  I  would  buy  them  back.  .  .  . 
All  these  fossil  Arachnidae*  ought  to  go — you  would  give 
them  in  your  own  name ;  it  would  be  rather  nice,  you  know, 
'Presented  by  A.  L.  Minnitt,  of  Severnly.' ' 

Minnitt  stood  up  and  smiled  at  Kirk. 

"Clinton!  What  a  rum  chap  you  are!  That  would  be 
rather  ripping !  Well,  if  I  do  get  sick  of  them,  I'll  do  what 
you  ask,  there !  but  I  shall  not." 

"Thank  you  very  much  indeed.  That  is  a  promise.  .  .  . 
It  would  be  such  a  great  pity,  so  wretched,  for  them  to  be 
covered  with  dust,  and  all  forgotten,  and  at  last  be  thrown 
away  by  some  ignorant  person.  ...  I  almost  wish  they  were 
all  back  in  their  ancient  graves." 

Before  they  parted,  his  friend  said,  "Give  me  your  address, 
Clinton,  and  if  you  ever  come  back,  come  and  put  up  at  our 
place,  will  you  ?" 

"...  Why,  it's  very  good  of  you !"  said  Kirk,  surprised ; 
it  had  not  occurred  to  him  that  he  would  ever  come  back.  "I 
should  be  very  glad  to." 

He  hastened  off  to  order  his  clothes,  but  not,  of  course, 
from  Mr.  Cubell. 

*  Fossil  spiders. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

MARY  during  this  important  week  more  than  once 
spoke  to  her  father  about  Kirk.  Her  gentle  nature 
happily  brought  father  and  son  to  civil  terms.  Doubtfully 
she  divined  that  Mr.  Clinton  felt  some  stirring  of  affection 
over  the  approaching  departure  of  Kirk,  for  he  was  a  strange 
man,  and  not  readily  to  be  understood.  He  certainly  re- 
lented a  little  and,  through  Mary,  he  informed  Kirk  that  he 
would  give  him  two  pounds. 

"I'll  give  it  to  him,  I'll  give  it  to  him,  child;  leave  me 
now,"  replied  Mr.  Clinton  to  Mary's  last  hint  that  the 
money  should  be  given  at  once,  for  it  was  Sunday  evening, 
and  Kirk  was  to  leave  early  next  morning.  Her  brother 
counted  on  the  forty  shillings  to  pay  his  fare,  about  eight 
and  six;  and' the  remainder,  with  what  he  had  left  of  his 
own,  would  keep  him  for  a  month  until  he  received  his  first 

pay- 
Next  morning,  an  hour  before  Kirk  was  to  leave  the  house, 

Mary  knocked  at  her  father's  bedroom  door  and  standing 
outside  spoke  to  him.  ^one  knew  better  than  she  how  to 
mingle  the  gentleness  and  the  persistence  that  alone  gained 
success  with  Mr.  Clinton  in  these  too  common  emergencies. 

Kirk  listened  anxiously  to  her;  if  she  could  not  get  the 
money  he  thought  he  would  have  to  rush  over  to  Minnitt's, 
as  a  last  resource.  Mary  had  offered  him  ten  shillings  of 
her  own,  but  up  to  now  he  had  refused ;  it  would  not  suffice. 
He  could  not  touch  her  little  hoard.  Unexpectedly,  from 
inside  the  bed-room  Mr.  Clinton  replied — 

"I  am  myself  going  to  see  Kirkpatrick  away,  Mary." 

131 


132  THE   BORN   FOOL 

"But,  father  dear,  you  will  be  late,  he  will  miss  his  train !" 

She  heard  a  brisk  noise  begin.  He  was  getting  up;  the 
door  opened  slightly — 

"My  bath,  turn  it  on,  quick,  quick,  child!"  commanded 
Mr.  Clinton.  Some  strange  reversion  had  seized  him.  He 
came  down  earlier  than  usual;  and  walked  off  breakfastless 
accompanied  by  Kirk  and  Mary.  They  had  just  enough 
time,  but  Kirk  was  very  harassed,  and  wished  to  go  quickly 
in  case  the  clock  were  wrong;  yet  even  Mary  was  powerless 
to  hasten  her  father.  He  had  acquired  a  habit  of  exactly 
measuring  the  time  to  go  to  a  station.  He  was  never  in  good 
time,  he  never  ran,  yet  he  rarely  missed  a  train. 

This  morning  he  went  to  the  booking-office,  bought  a  ticket 
to  Cirenhampton,  and  arrived  coolly  on  the  platform  as  the 
express  drew  up.  He  gave  the  ticket,  the  change  from  a 
sovereign,  and  another  sovereign,  to  his  son. 

Kirk  put  his  arms  round  Mary,  strained  her  to  himself, 
kissed  her,  and  then  got  in.  She  was  in  tears.  Her  last 
words  were — 

"You  look  so  nice  in  your  things,  dear.  .  .  .  Write  to- 
night." 

Through  the  window  he  shook  hands  with  Mr.  Clinton. 

"Good-bye,  father." 

"Good-bye,  Kirkpatrick"  .  .  .  Mr.  Clinton  gave  his  last 
command — 

"Kirkpatrick,  avoid  women;  they  would  be  your  especial 
downfall.  And  remember,  there  can  be  no  success  without 
God.  I  wish  you  well." 

Kirk  waved  his  handkerchief  to  Mary  until  he  passed 
out  of  sight.  Then  he  sat  down  on  a  book  he  had  put  there. 
He  moved  it  further  along,  and  smiled.  It  was  Richard 
Jeffei-ies'  "Field  and  Hedgerow";  the  title  read  plainly  in 
silver  on  a  dark  maroon  back.  It  was  a  glimpse  of  this 
book,  thought  he,  that  prompted  his  father's  last  words.  He 
had,  a  few  months  earlier,  ordered  Kirk  to  take  Jefferie?' 
works  "from  under  this  roof,  sir!  An  abominable  man!  a 


THE    BORN    FOOL  133 

man  who  actually  places  woman  higher  than  his  God.  Out 
with  them  at  once !  or  I  will  burn  them." 

"I  am  free  at  last,"  thought  Kirk,  and  smiled  again. 

He  was  actually  on  the  way  to  Cirenhampton,  in  the 
train,  and  his  relief  was  great. 

About  eleven  o'clock,  when  twenty  miles  from  Cirenhamp- 
ton the  train  entered  a  wide  valley  that  lay  between  the  south- 
ern gorsy  heaths.  In  the  distance  were  peeps  of  the  high 
downs  that  Kirk  had  so  often  read  of.  Now  the  train  was 
running  through  lush  meadows  in  their  April  glory  of  yel- 
low flowers.  A  white  chalk-pit  gleamed  among  the  hanging 
woods,  and  Kirk  grew  excited  by  the  scenery  and  exquisite 
southerliness. 

He  was  so  saturated  at  this  time  with  Richard  Jefferies' 
influence  that  now,  when  he  saw  the  lesser  grebes  on  a  back- 
water of  this  broad  swirling  chalk-stream,  he  desired  eagerly 
to  point  them  out  to  a  stiff  lady  and  her  daughter,  who  sat 
opposite  in  the  carriage ;  but  the  elder  woman's  face  forbade 
him.  They  would  not  know,  thought  he,  how  rare  at  Severnly 
were  these  water-birds. 

Wild  things  and  creatures  gave  him  such  keen  delight ;  but 
he  was  not  of  the  race  of  "naturalists."  Grebes  were  not 
just  birds  to  him ;  no,  they  were  of  the  unknown,  of  Richard 
Jefferies'  Nature,  and  Kirk,  too,  like  Jefferies,  felt  deeply  the 
ecstasy  of  the  wild  flowers,  and  was  so  conscious  of  the  rich 

miracle  in  which  he  lived. 

i 

Two  men  awaited  Kirk  at  Cirenhampton  station.  The 
younger,  Charlie  Bendigo,  walked  somewhat  unquietly  up 
and  down  the  platform;  he  looked  at  every  girl,  briskly 
swung  his  cane,  squared  his  shoulders,  lit  another  cigarette, 
and  often  turned  back  smartly  a  step  or  two,  to  say  some- 
thing gay  to  his  spare,  large-limbed  and  hawk-eyed  com- 
panion, who  walked  slouchingly,  deliberately,  aggressively, 
and  looked  powerful  of  both  physique  and  mind.  Charlie 
wore  excellent  cord  riding-breeches,  perfect  leggings,  the 


134  THE   BORN   FOOL 

shiniest  brown  boots,  and  large  spurs.  His  very  close-cut 
dark  coat  showed  a  marked  waist.  The  shoulders  were 
sharply  square,  and  tight  with  padding.  An  over-heavy 
gold  chain  crossed  his  light  waistcoat.  A  neat  jewelled  pin 
pierced  his  cravat  low  down.  Beneath  the  latest  tweed  cap 
his  small  blue  eyes  twinkled  and  laughed  in  a  sunburnt  and 
pointed  face.  His  dark  moustache,  trimmed  carefully  and 
very  waxed,  hid  the  mouth.  He  was  by  no  means  a  bad- 
looking  fellow,  but  his  type  made  a  great  contrast  with  Bill 
Colquhoun.  The  elder  man — who  looked  forty-five  but  was 
ten  years  older — wore  thin  grey  tweed,  well  cut,  but  some- 
what worn,  and  short  in  the  sleeves.  The  big  bony  hairy 
wrist  showed  beyond  the  sleeve  and  the  flannel  shirt.  A 
grey  bowler  of  large  size  well  suited  him.  His  keenly  intelli- 
gent and  large  dark  eyes  habitually  levelled  themselves  at 
men  and  things  with  an  air  of  critical  command.  They  were 
a  good  pair  of  eyes,  and  set  well  apart  in  a  strong  face  of 
bronze.  The  semi-Roman  nose  and  clear-cut  mouth  belonged 
indubitably  to  those  falcon  eyes.  Protruding  quite  fifteen 
inches  from  his  right-hand  coat  pocket  were  the  two  ends  of 
a  valuable  rolled-up  plan.  Bill  hated  carrying  things  in  the 
hand,  so  he  had  doubled  up  the  roll  in  its  middle,  and  thrust 
the  crumpled  nose  made  in  the  unfortunate  thing,  deep  into 
his  large  pocket.  The  two  projecting  rolled  ends  that  wid- 
ened from  each  corner  of  the  pocket,  his  negligent  tie,  his 
pocket-flaps  half  pushed  in  or  unbuttoned,  accentuated  his 
large-minded  air.  One  sensed  an  impatience  with  the  trivial 
or  the  mean  of  spirit. 

"Mr.  Clinton?" 

"Yes." 

"Pleased  to  meet  you,  Clinton,"  said  Charlie,  with  genuine 
good  feeling  and  a  rather  sweet  smile.  "This  is  Bill,  Mr. 
William  Colquhoun,  our  walking  bummer." 

The  eyes  of  Kirk  and  Bill  met  squarely.  One  second  of 
keen  intuition  passed.  They  liked  each  other.  Then  Bill  put 
his  great  hand  forward,  still  intently  looking.  They  loosed 


THE'  BORN   FOOL  135 

hands,  and  the  hawk-eyes  looked  downwards  and  sideways, 
and  Bill  spoke  with  a  kind  of  stern  reminiscent  emotion. 
"Sir,  I  worked  for  your  Forther,  Mr.  Clinton  .  .  .  when  I 
was  young  ...  I  was  at  Issac.  .  .  .  You've  got  his  own 
look  about  you." 

A  man  of  somewhat  few  words,  Colquhoun  habitually  spoke 
slowly,  and  with  a  peculiar  deliberation  and  emphasis.  He 
was  Scottish  by  descent,  but  had  been  born  and  bred  in 
London. 

It  was  just  noon,  the  men's  dinner-hour  would  be  from 
one  to  two,  and  Charlie  proposed  they  should  all  three  visit 
a  near-by  section  of  the  work,  "and  we  can  tell  Clinton 
things  as  we  go  along."  Kirk  asked  questions,  made  re- 
marks, and  began  picking  up  threads  of  the  work  and  its 
problems.  The  head-works  and  wells  were  being  built  and 
sunk  at  Daisy  Mead,  two  miles  outside  the  town,  and  for  the 
present  they  inspected  a  length  of  deep  trench  for  a  large 
incoming  main.  Kirk  noted  with  great  interest  the  uncom- 
mon marls,  peat,  clays  and  gravels,  cut  through  by  the  trench ; 
but  he  said  nothing  of  this. 

Bill  observed  with  silent  satisfaction  that  Kirk  knew  what 
he  spoke  about,  and  further  he  learned  quickly  that  Kirk 
quite  understood  the  social  system,  the  peculiar  and  rigid 
etiquette  of  Public  Works.  Presently  they  left  the  trenches 
and  went  towards  the  centre  of  the  town.  Kirk  would  have 
lunch  with  Charlie. 

When  they  drew  near  an  hotel,  where  Bill  knew  there  was 
a  good-looking  girl,  he  turned  to  Charlie,  and  said  lan- 
guidly— 

"Ain't  it  about  time  we  hed  a  drink,  Morster  Chorlie  ?" 

<fYes,  I  think  it  is !    Let's  go  in  here." 

Bill,  whose  face  showed  a  faint,  hard,  sardonic  smile, 
went  in  behind  him.  Charlie  felt  his  tie,  re-twisted  his 
moustache,  and  then  from  breeches-pocket  ostentatiously  drew 
forth  a  handful  of  sovereigns  and  put  them  on  the  bar.  He 


136  THE    BOKN    FOOL 

picked  one  out  and  gave  it  to  the  saucy  girl,  who  evidently 
well  knew  him. 

"The  usual  for  me  and  Bill,  Mabel.  Mr.  Clinton?  I 
don't  know  what  you  take  ?" 

"Ginger-beer,  please." 

She  put  the  drinks  down,  and  jerked  her  chin  away  from 
Charlie's  hand.  Bill's  drink  seemed  to  be  merely  a  small 
tumbler  of  water ;  and  he  turned  to  Kirk,  saying  in  a  calm, 
cynical  kind  of  way — 

"I'm  a'most  a  teetotaller,  myself,  Sir." 

Charlie  laughed;  and  Kirk  laughed  out  of  politeness,  but 
could  not  see  the  joke.  Later  on,  he  found  Bill  drank  un- 
diluted gin,  and  gin  only. 

To  impress  Clinton  and  the  pretty  girl  Charlie  gave  way 
to  an  impulse.  He  looked  gravely  at  Bill  and  spoke  in  a 
business-like  voice — 

"I've  been  out  to  Daisy  Mead  this  morning."  He  sipped 
before  he  went  on,  but  Bill  at  once  smiled  cynically  and 
said  good-humouredly — 

"Did  you  get  to  see  'er  then,  Morster  Chorlie  ?" 

The  girl  and  Kirk  both  smiled,  but  taking  no  notice 
Charlie  continued  in  a  louder  voice :  "And  I  must  say  you're 
not  making  much  of  a  job  of  it.  There !  Why !  you'll  have 
the  timbering  in !  especially  No.  3  shaft,  if  you  aren't  care- 
ful." 

Bill  stood  up,  large,  indignant,  his  eyes  on  Charlie.  This 
was  an  unforgivable  slander  upon  his  reputation,  and  pur- 
posely made  in  the  presence  of  the  new  engineer,  and  before 
a  nice  girl — and  he  saw  why.  He  fiercely  gulped  down  his 
drink,  thrust  back  his  hat  from  his  great  forehead,  and 
glared  at  Charlie.  He  would  humble  him  indeed!  He 
spoke  deliberately:  with  astonishment,  indignation,  contemp- 
tuous sarcasm  — 

"Ye-oo !  .  .  .  Ye-oo !  .  .  .  'oo  are  ye-oo  ?  It's  becawse  of 
ye-oo,  we  ain't  gort  enaff  timber !  Why,  yer  encle  keeps  you! 
Bin  with  yer  encle,  for  ten  years,  and  don't  know  natthin' 


THE    BORN    FOOL  137 

nar.  Cornt  use  a  theodolite;  orfter  ten  years!  Cornt  earn 

yr livin' !  You  orter  be  ashimed  of  y'rself,  coming  out 

like  this  agin  me,  before  a  hingineer,  and  one  as  looks  as  if  'e 
worze  a  hingineer." 

Drawing  breath  and  standing  up  squarely,  Bill  put  his 
glass  down  and  pushed  it  further  on  to  the  counter. 

"Yr  kin  tell  yr  encle,  end  your  Forther,  what  I  say ;"  and 
turning  round  the  big  man  went  out  of  the  hotel,  followed 
in  a  few  minutes  by  Kirk,  and  reluctantly  by  young  Ben- 
digo,  .who  was  as  red  as  though  his  face  had  been  struck. 

The  lie  of  the  land  was  now  clear  to  Kirk.  He  judged 
that  young  Bendigo  was  not  equal  to  his  post,  was  not  trained 
in  engineering,  ran  after  girls,  and  could  not  get  on  with 
his  manager.  Therefore  himself,  Kirk,  had  been  appointed 
more  or  less  to  replace  Charlie — his  chief's  nephew.  .  .  . 
It  would  require  nice  handling. 

Feeling  glum  and  sulky,  Charlie  solaced  himself  at  lunch 
with  a  very  large  whiskey  and  soda,  and  by  the  time  he  had 
devoured  a  good  steak  and  seen  the  bottom  of  the  glass 
moodiness  had  left  him.  Suddenly  smiling,  he  threw  down 
his  serviette.  He  sat  up  and  stuck  his  chest  out.  He  twisted 
his  moustache,  and  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh — that  showed 
his  white  and  even  teeth. 

"Dear  old  Bill!  Isn't  he  a  character?  So  touchy! 
Thinks  he  ought  to  have  charge  of  the  job,  you  know.  Dear 
old  mother,  he  is!  Of  course  he's  been  with  the  Old  Man 
since  he  was  a  boy.  Thinks  he  knows  more  than  any  engi- 
neer !  So  jealous !  But  you'll  like  him,  Clinton !  All  right 
when  you  know  him.  He's  not  a  bad  sort.  Bit  difficult  at 
times ;  can't  bear  to  be  criticised.  I  have  to  have  a  bit  of  a 
row  with  him  about  once  a  month,  just  to  let  him  know  who's 
master.  But  there's  more  work  on  now  than  Bill  can  man- 
age; so  you  and  me  are  to  run  the  works  together.  I'm 
agent,  of  course,  and  you'll  be  my  engineer.  I  shall  leave 
all  that  side  to  you." 

It  was  not  long  before  Kirk  found  that  Charlie  had  cer- 


138  THE    BORN   FOOL 

tainly  been  in  full  charge  of  the  work,  and  that  he  was  sup- 
posed to  be  an  engineer;  but,  except  for  good  care  of  the 
stables  he  had  soon  left  all  real  management  to  Bill.  The 
setting  out  with  level  and  theodolite  had  become  dependent  on 
the  caprice  and  good-will  of  the  Clerk  of  the  Works,  who  rep- 
resented the  London  engineers  who  designed  the  scheme. 
These  engineers  but  rarely  visited  the  works.  Colquhoun 
had  become  very  much  overworked,  and  greatly  hampered  by 
lack  of  an  engineer-in-residence ;  the  works,  too,  were  daily 
extending,  and  it  was  Colquhoun  who  privately  had  asked  Mr. 
Bendigo  for  help,  resulting  in  Kirk's  appointment. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

LIVING  was  cheap  at  Cirenhampton.  Kirk  found  pleas- 
ant rooms  in  one  of  several  small  villas.  These  stood 
behind  pretty  gardens  in  John-and-Mary  Road,  a  quiet  place 
on  the  border  of  the  town.  The  odd  name  of  this  road  had 
first  enticed  him.  His  landlady  was  a  quiet,  clean,  respect- 
able woman.  Although  past  fifty-five,  her  cheeks  were  rosy, 
her  face  attractive,  her  dark  hair  still  abundant.  For  some 
years  she  had  remained  a  widow;  but,  being  of  very  inde- 
pendent mind,  she  brooded  over  the  fact  that  she  was  become 
largely  dependent  on  her  children's  contributions.  She 
grieved  that  she  caused  them  an  expense.  So,  suddenly,  she 
married  a  Church  of  England  colporteur.  The  wedding  cards 
gave  her  children  the  first  intimation,  and  they  all  promptly 
fell  out  with  her,  poor  soul. 

Her  new  husband  decided  where  she  was  to  live.  Three 
or  four  months  often  passed  between  his  visits.  He  was  a 
colporteur  in  the  Church  Army,  and  travelled  all  Oxfordshire 
in  a  van,  selling  tracts  and  books,  and  preaching  the  gospel. 
His  wife  knew  no  one  at  Cirenhampton,  and  had  made  few 
acquaintances.  She  told  Kirk  her  troubles,  bit  by  bit.  The 
very  pretty  young  woman  whom  Kirk  saw  when  he  arrived 
was  her  youngest  daughter,  married  two  years  ago.  All  her 
other  children  refused  even  to  write  to  her.  It  was  a  pity 
her  new  husband  had  such  an  ugly  name.  .  .  . 

Kirk  could  give  no  philosophic  advice,  but  he  did  feel  sym- 
pathy for  her.  Often  he  purposely  led  her  into  conversation, 
because  he  saw  it  eased  her  and  that  she  was  rather  lonely. 
He  always  smiled  and  spoke  when  she  brought  in  his  meals — 
unless  he  happened  to  be  too  deep  in  a  book — and  besides, 

139 


140  THE    BORN    FOOL 

she  was  such  a  clean,  well-mannered,  bright-faced,  honest 
soul,  «ne  could  not  help  liking  her. 

Life  at  Cirenhampton  was  to  make  the  inherent  duality 
of  Kirk's  character  become  very  pronounced.  He  lived  to 
the  full,  whether  in  his  practical  life  or  in  his  idealistic  life, 
but  between  them  he  set  a  locked  door.  The  spare  evenings 
of  the  first  month  and  all  free  Sundays  he  spent  in  delicious 
dreams  and  explorations  in  the  new  country-side. 

In  this  same  month  he  dined  a  few  times  with  Charlie, 
who,  after  dinner,  initiated  Kirk  in  the  art  of  billiards. 

Kirk  by  rare  special  invitation  went  to  tea  at  Bill's  house ; 
and  Bill  several  times  came  round  to  Kirk's  rooms.  When 
Bill  made  a  visit  he  would  come  in  and  sit  down  deferentially, 
and  tell  Kirk  shrewd  and  amusing  stories  about  work;  and 
presently  he  would  bring  forth  a  crumpled  plan  or  sketch  and 
sound  Kirk's  ideas  on  the  best  methods  to  be  pursued.  One 
evening  Bill  found  himself  surprisingly  disappointed  because 
Kirk  was  out,  and  in  future  he  gave  early  notice  of  his  calls. 

Kirk  laid  in — not  for  himself — a  supply  of  gin,  and  this 
attention  raised  him  further  in  Bill's  estimation.  But  the 
elder  man  made  his  visits  fewer,  and  never  took  more  than 
three  good  drinks  on  each  occasion.  He  knew  he  was  a  very 
much  richer  man  than  Kirk.  When  Kirk  first  went  to  Bill's 
house,  he  was  very  much  surprised  to  find  Mrs.  Colquhoun 
immensely  fat,  for  she  was  the  mother  of  the  two  neat,  pretty 
little  maids,  who  went  to  the  Girls'  High  School,  and  whom 
Bill  one  morning  in  the  town  had  introduced  to  Kirk,  with 
a  very  lordly  and  a  fatherly  pride. 

Their  house  seemed  to  be  full  of  gilded  clocks  under  glass 
shades.  Kirk  certainly  counted  four  in  the  front  room.  Dur- 
ing tea  Bill  pointed  solemnly  to  the  largest,  and  said — 

"I've  promised  to  give  thet  to  Morster  Chorlie,  as  a  little 
enkeregement." — " Win  'e  gits  merried !"  added  Bill,  smiling 
cynically,  while  Mrs.  Bill  really  shook  with  good-natured 
mirth. 


THE    BOKN    FOOL  141 

Kirk  had  been  on  the  work  only  three  weeks  when  Bill  first 
came  round  to  his  room,  and  was  shown  in. 

"Good  evening,  Sir,"  had  said  Colquhoun.  "Maybe  you 
wouldn't  mind  stepping  round  and  looking  at  the  most  cussed 
pump  the  Old  Man  ever  bought  for  us  ?"  and  Bill  drew  his 
breath  in  with  dissatisfaction,  and  glanced  down  darkly,  right 
and  left. 

They  went  out  together.  It  was  just  dusk.  A  deep  exca- 
vation for  the  extensive  foundations  of  a  massive  water-tower 
was  in  progress  close  to  the  river,  and  two  roaring  lights — 
known  on  public  works  as  "Lucy  Janes" — lit  up  the  crowd  of 
men.  One-half  of  them  were  in  thigh-waders  and  overalls, 
and  should  have  been  continuing  the  excavation  and  its  care- 
ful timbering  in  the  wet  bottom.  But,  instead,  they  lounged 
idly  between  the  piled-up  earth,  sand,  gravel,  brick-stacks, 
and  spare  timber.  The  belts  from  a  pair  of  very  large  port- 
able engines  were  driving  at  a  rocking  pace,  a  double- 
pulleyed,  twelve-inch  centrifugal  pump.  Men  were  strength- 
ening the  massive  staging  that  it  occupied,  and  a  boy  continu- 
ously brought  and  poured  water  over  one  of  the  bearings 
to  help  keep  it  cool.  But  only  a  miserably  attenuated  stream 
of  water  and  a  loud,  steady,  empty  roar  issued  from  the 
mouth  of  the  big  pump.  Two  other  steam  pumps  were  hard 
at  work,  but  could  not  keep  the  water  down.  All  these  idling 
men  were  making  "time-and-a-half"  for  night-work.  They 
could  not  enter  the  excavations,  for  these  were  half  full  of 
water,  the  work  being  in  deep  saturated  sands  and  flint 
gravels. 

Bill  spoke  with  great  resentment  as  he  and  Kirk  approached 
the  scene  of  operations. 

"Every  blorsted  thing  ready  for  the  night — the  mill  as 
you  arranged,  Sir,  drawring  the  water  dahn  at  eleven ;  every 
man  we  wornt  is  'ere,  seventy-nine  of  'em,  and  nar!  the 
blorsted  pemp  weaunt  work !"  Bill's  feelings  rose  in  a  vicious 
crescendo. 

"End  these  blorsted  villagers  Orlorfin'  et  us,  Sir !"  vexedly 


142  THE   BORN   FOOL 

added  he.  London  was  the  only  town,  all  else  were  "villages." 

Kirk  and  Bill  now  went  up  and  looked  very  closely  over 
the  large  pump;  she  was  making  some  thousand  revolutions 
a  minute,  and  the  heavy  staging  tremhled  strongly  over  the 
dark  water. 

"What  about  the  foot-valves?"  asked  Kirk. 

"Cornt  find  nething  wrorng,  Sir — Ginger,  'ee's  a  bleddy 
pengwin,  s'  stripped  'isself  twice  and  dived  down  to  'em — 
'ee  ses  they're  eb-so-lootly  free  and  clear — workin-easy.  Cornt 
think  wort  the  'ell's  wrorng!" 

Bill  felt  the  main  bearings — scowled  at  the  boy  and 
shouted  in  his  ear — "Yr  not  keepin'  'er  cool,  yr  lazy  young 
'ell-bag!  Put  it  on  thicker!  Dem  yer!" 

Kirk,  after  watching  the  flying  belts,  stooped  again  over 
the  pump,  and  then  stood  up  quickly.  He  drew  Bill  fur- 
ther from  the  pump,  and  spoke  decisively — 

"Stop  her,  Colquhoun." 

Bill  passed  on  the  order. 

As  the  engines  slowed  down  tne  drivers  opened  their  fire- 
boxes, and  the  unused  steam  instantly  began  a  deafening  and 
increasing  roar  through  the  safety  valves. 

"Why!  Bill!"  shouted  Kirk  in  his  ear.  "Isn't  she  run- 
ning the  wrong  way  ?  .  .  ." 

Indeed,  it  was  so,  but  Kirk  showed  no  shadow  of  a 
smile — for  he  did  not  wish  to  hurt  Bill's  feelings.  Bill 
himself  with  furious  vigour  ran  to  the  drivers  and  cursed 
them  sharply — the  engines  were  wedged  and  jacked  for- 
ward, the  belts  were  crossed,  and  soon  the  pump  restarted. 
Quickly  a  full  volume  of  water  burst  forth,  filled  the  shoots 
and  began  rushing  off  steadily  to  the  river. 

Bill  that  night  wore  a  very  "fancy"  pair  of  trousers. 
With  a  grim  face  he  watched  the  water  sink  rapidly.  He 
was  consumed  with  anger  and  chagrin.  It  would  be  dis- 
gusting for  Charlie  to  hear  of  this.  He  knew  young  Mr. 
Clinton  would  never  tell.  But  what  about  gossip  and  the 


THE    BORN   FOOL  143 

men  ?  .  .  .  When  only  two  or  three  feet  of  water  remained, 
he  called  out  cynically,  and  forcibly — 

"Now,  you  old  invalid  women  in  the  bloody  boots!  git 
in  here!" 

He  himself  climbed  down  and  dropped  the  last  eight  feet 
into  the  shallowing  water,  offering  up  his  light  new  trousers 
to  the  gods.  Quickly  he  was  surrounded  by  his  men,  some 
of  them  well-nigh  up  to  their  waists  in  water,  for  Bill  in- 
variably inspired  them,  and  ever  treated  those  well  who  were 
deserving.  The  sheet-piling  began  to  go  down;  the  sum- 
mer night  shook  with  heavy  blows,  two  or  three  together; 
and  the  work  went  forward.  There  was  no  need  for  Kirk 
to  remain.  He  knew  with  great  secret  joy  that  in  the  esti- 
mations of  Bill  and  all  the  men  he  had  made  a  record,  he 
had  soared  amazingly. 

In  less  than  two  months,  Kirk's  early  hours,  his  accurate 
and  quick  work  with  level,  tacheometer  or  theodolite,  his 
energy  and  foresight  in  keeping  up  the  full  supply  of  ma- 
terials and  plant,  his  prompt  assistance  and  advice,  his  re- 
sourcefulness in  difficulties,  had  earned  him  a  firm  footing 
on  the  works,  and  the  cemented  friendship  of  Colquhoun. 
In  addition,  Kirk  was  well-liked  by  men  and  gangers.  For 
he  had  the  happy  gift  that  he  could  say  to  them  a  most  funny 
or  familiar  thing,  without  the  slightest  loss  of  discipline. 
He  was  firm,  but  modest.  He  was  gentlemanly,  but  he  put 
on  no  airs,  and  could  speak  with  any  one  of  them. 

Gradually,  the  work  of  both  the  agent  and  the  engineer 
came  into  Kirk's  hands.  He  it  was  now  who  made  all  ar- 
rangements with  landowners,  with  local  tradesmen  and  au- 
thorities. 

Old  Mr.  Bendigo  had  for  many  years  bred  his  own 
horses.  He  said  this  did  not  pay  financially,  but  was  a 
hobby.  The  fifty-odd  horses  at  Cirenhampton  remained 
under  the  direct  care  of  Charlie,  who  understood  their  proper 
stabling,  feeding,  and  management.  He  loved  horses,  and 
would  have  made  a  clever  veterinary  surgeon.  He  had 


144  THE    BORN    FOOL 

marked  power  over  horses,  and  also  over  a  certain  kind  of 
girl. 

It  was  Charlie's  daily  ecstasy,  when,  firmly  seated  on  a 
fine  black  polished  thoroughbred,  a  gift  from  his  uncle — 
he  curvetted  slowly  along  the  main  street  of  Cirenhampton. 
This  spirited  horse  reared  every  few  yards  and  pranced  now 
on,  now  off,  the  flagged  pavement,  and  more  than  one  pretty 
girl's  heart  beat  faster,  for  Charlie  was  a  born  rake  and  by 
nature  and  practice  easily  made  his  kind  of  love,  not  to  one, 
but  to  three  or  four  at  once,  in  this  small  town. 

Considerable  friction  at  last  arose  between  young  Ben- 
digo  and  Clinton,  the  real  point  at  issue  being  the  chief- 
ship  of  the  works. 

Colquhoun,  a  most  astute  diplomatist,  secretly  fomented 
this  state  of  things,  and,  without  Kirk  knowing  it,  he  pow- 
erfully backed  him  up;  for  he  had  liked  Kirk  from  their 
very  first  interview.  He  had  given  him  much  advice,  always 
respectfully  yet  always  feeling  quite  aware  of  his  own 
superior  and  wide  practical  experience — always  excepting 
steam  pumps. 

In  addition  to  settling  purely  engineering  matters,  it  was 
become  part  of  Kirk's  duty  to  determine  day  by  day  the 
work  and  distribution  of  the  fifty  horses  and  a  traction- 
engine.  He  had  to  regulate  the  supply  and  delivery  of  ma- 
terials for  the  many  different  sections  of  work,  and  arrange 
all  in  advance,  so  that  there  should  be  no  loss  of  time  or 
money,  through  bad  organisation,  through  lack  of  timber, 
cement,  stone,  steelwork,  tools,  repairs,  parts  of  machinery, 
new  and  old  iron  pipes,  valves,  fittings,  bricks,  sand,  coal, 
oil,  water  supply,  and  so  on. 

When  Kirk  came  to  Cirenhampton  Charlie  was  especially 
busy,  for  he  had  two  strings  to  his  bow  of  Cupid  in  the  town 
itself,  and  also  was  laying  siege  to  a  slim  and  flighty  girl 
a  few  miles  down  the  valley,  at  the  "Angler's  Rest."  Charlie 
also  had  a  great  friend  in  the  local  "vet,"  and  now  he  rod& 


THE    BORN    FOOL  145 

frequently  with  him  to  distant  farms  and  sales,  and  had 
made  two  good  bargains  for  his  uncle.  Charlie  and  his 
friend  were  both  skilled  at  billiards,  and,  between  horses, 
billiards,  and  hot  love-affairs,  Charlie  appeared  on  the  works 
seldom  more  than  twice  or  thrice  a  week. 

For  a  whole  fortnight  now,  Kirk  had  scarcely  spoken  with 
him  at  all  during  the  day-time,  except  on  Saturday  morn- 
ings when  Charlie,  accompanied  by  Kirk,  went  to  the  bank, 
signed  the  cheque  for  his  uncle,  drew  the  wages  money  and 
saw  it  paid  out.  Charlie  was  the  person  officially  accredited 
to  conduct  correspondence  with  the  London  office,  but  Kirk, 
with  Bill's  frequent  counsel  and  assistance,  now  wrote  all 
orders,  letters,  and  advice-notes,  and  after  office  hours  would 
take  the  most  important  to  be  signed  by  young  Bendigo. 

Charlie  for  some  two  months  was  well  content  to  leave 
all  to  the  new  engineer.  But  lately,  his  hotel-bar  friends 
had  conveyed  in  conversation  hints  of  a  loss  of  honour  and 
responsibility.  But  the  very  quick  of  Charlie's  vanity  was 
sharply  touched  when  one  evening — in  the  middle  of  a  bil- 
liard-match— some  insistent  talkers  stopped  to  look  at  him, 
while  one  of  them  asked: 

"Mister  Bendigo,  we're  argying  about  ye  and  Mr.  Clin- 
ton, which  o'  t'other  o'  ye  is  really  the  master  ?" 

Charlie,  reddening  with  vexation  before  the  crowded  room, 
replied,  "Why !  me,  of  course!" 

"Thank'ee,  Mister  Bendigo — thank'ee! — There,  genel- 
men!"  said  the  farmer  laughing  bucolically — "I've  won  me 
munney!"  And  every  one  else  laughed. 

Charlie  awoke  next  morning  with  a  head,  ate  very  little 
breakfast,  and  left  his  rooms  about  ten  o'clock.  He  was 
in  no  very  good  humour.  He  met  a  carter  and  asked  him 
where  he  was  going.  The  man  pulled  up  his  horse,  and 
told  him.  Charlie  peremptorily  ordered  him  elsewhere. 
Then,  glancing  down  at  his  ultra-fashionable  riding-breeches, 
he  swaggered  off  through  the  town,  called  at  a  bar  and  had 
a  double-stiff  whiskey  and  soda,  and  immediately  went  out. 


146  THE    BORN    FOOL 

He  would  just  show  every  one  who  was  the  real  boss  at 
Cirenhampton.  It  might  disarrange  things  a  bit,  but  what 
the  devil  of  that?  The  job  was  paying  twenty-five  per  cent. 
He  stopped  every  driver  he  met  and  gave  him  new,  and 
senseless  orders.  The  traction  engine  of  the  firm  soon 
blocked  the  main  street  at  a  narrow  place  while  it  man- 
(Buvred  an  immediate  return  under  Charlie's  satisfied  and 
foolish  eye.  He  stood  rakishly  a  few  yards  from  the  small 
crowd  that  looked  on.  He  swore  at  the  driver  when  he 
broke  two  kerb-stones.  But  the  driver— a  very  good  man- 
flushed  up  and  swore  back  at  him,  then  deliberately  backed 
his  engine  further.  The  heavy  wheels  of  the  trailer-wagon 
at  once  badly  smashed  the  paving  of  the  foot-path. 

By  lunch-time  all  was  in  confusion;  several  navvies  and 
time-keepers  came  in  together  at  headquarters  with  mes- 
sages of  missing  materials  that  had  not  arrived,  and  were 
urgently  in  request.  Quite  non-plussed,  Kirk  was  just  set- 
ting off  in  haste  to  see  about  all  this  trouble  when  Colqu- 
houn,  hot  and  angry,  met  him  at  the  office  door.  Bill  en- 
tered, took  his  hat  off,  violently  threw  it  on  the  floor,  and 
wiped  his  broad  forehead. 

"It's  thet  bleckhead  bin  rahnd  agin,  Mr.  Clinton  I  but  'e 
won't  do  it  agin;  I've  seen  'im,  and  cussed  'im,  and  I've 
wired  to  'is  encle  to  come  dahn!" 

"You  should  not  have  done  that,  Bill.  That  is  my  busi- 
ness." 

"I've  put  it  wuss  nur  you  could  put  it,  Sir,  and  I've  been 
with  the  Old  Man  twenty-five  years.  Don't  go  for  to  think 
I  was  usurping  your  authority,  Sir,  but  me  and  the  Old  Man 
knows  Chorlie  better  nor  you.  An'  I  don't  wornt  'im  to 
be  your  enemy.  I  Tcnoo  what  it  would  be  when  'e  kem, — 
an'  when  you  kem,  Sir !"  said  Bill,  getting  warmer  and  the 
Cockney  coming  out  of  him.  "Sooner  or  liter,  orn  beach 
jorb,  'e  hess  to  ge-au;  or  be'ive  hisself !" 

Old  Mr.  Bendigo  came  down  next  day  and  saw  Kirk  and 


THE    BOKN    FOOL  147 

Bill  together,  and  then  Charlie,  and  from  that  day  Kirk  was 
left  untrammelled  and  in  full  charge,  subject  as  a  very 
young  engineer,  to  Bill's  fatherly  and  respectful  advice. 

Charlie  was  too  weak  or  too  generous  to  hate  or  retain 
anger,  and  his  sulkiness  rapidly  vanished.  Soon  he  was 
again  quite  happy.  He  was  still  the  important  man  on 
Saturday  when  he  and  Kirk  went  to  the  bank,  and  he  gave 
out  that  his  business  was  the  financial  side  of  the  work.  He 
had  a  good  deal  of  generosity  of  a  kind,  and  he  bore  Kirk 
no  ill-will.  He  remained  friendly  to  him,  and  Kirk  on  his 
side  carefully  avoided  wounding  Charlie's  vanity. 

With  the  busy  yet  romantic  South  England  town  Kirk 
from  the  first  was  charmed.  It  was  so  light  of  hue,  so  clean, 
so  kindly,  and  yet  so  ancient.  In  the  evenings  and  on  holi- 
days Kirk  explored,  wandered  in,  and  was  enraptured  by 
the  South.  Here,  felt  Kirk,  human  life  had  always  held  a 
deep  civilisation,  that  would  ever  be  unknown  to  Midland, 
Celtic,  and  the  Northern  folk. 

His  eager  mind  and  body  drank  in  the  new  airs  with 
delight.  The  whole  world  was  before  him  in  those  days. 
Vague  ambitions  stalked  like  Thor  through  his  imagination. 
His  consciousness  seemed  so  great;  he  felt  that  success — • 
yes,  even  fame  and  immortality — awaited  him,  in  some  di- 
rection. 

Time  lay  ahead  to  a  boundless  horizon.  What  would 
come?  Far  away  seemed  to  sparkle  some  future  culmina- 
tion that  was  splendid. 

The  sweetness  of  the  South  country  entered  into  him. 
The  Midlands  were  heavy ;  there  one  thought  more  slowly, — 
like  the  crimson  fox-gloves,  pondering  in  the  deep  shade  of 
noon,  under  the  great  trees.  There  the  rivers  flowed  slowly, 
with  power,  deep,  unrippled,  and  the  red  earth,  though  dear 
to  him,  was  yet  heavy,  dormant,  and  sober.  There  the  wood- 
pigeons  faintly  clapped  and  murmured  in  the  shadowy 
depths,  and  nightingales  thrilled  far  in  the  solemn  woods, 


148  THE    BORN    FOOL 

in  the  silence  of  the  still  moon,  in  the  lofty  chancels  of 
that  ancient  forest-land. 

But  this  dear  South  country  took  him  by  the  hand.  A 
hundred  larks  sang  in  the  air,  trees  were  so  young  and 
green  and  growing.  Even  in  old  age,  they  were  somehow 
young.  The  gayest  flowers  were  so  plenteous.  Rivers  ran 
so  swift  and  clear  and  swirling.  The  big  trout  rose  and 
walloped  briskly.  The  green  hedgeless  downs  spread  them- 
selves im  floods  of  light.  The  fresh  air — dry  and  trans- 
lucent— streamed  joyously  past  from  the  not  so  far  away 
blue  sea.  Brown  and  red  and  white  and  yellow  flints — 
so  pleasant  hued — made  warm  fields,  warm  roads,  light  soils. 
The  dear  South  came  to  him  like  a  young  laughing  girl,  and 
he  feM  in  love  with  her  for  ever.  Surely  this  was  his  own 
land. 


CHAPTEK  XVIII 

KIRK  was  keenly  engrossed  and  energetic  in  the  work, 
so  long  as  he  was  in  the  midst  of  it ;  but  when  th«  day's 
labour  ended  he  hastened  to  leave  it  far  behind. 

The  sweating  men,  their  curses,  their  striving,  the  plan- 
ning and  directing,  the  strong  shrewd  humour  of  men — all 
faded  to  forgotten  unrealities.  He  sought  solitudes. 

He  hastened  in  the  evenings  to  lay  his  hands  in  those  of 
his  young  goddess,  Nature;  who  hid  among  the  blossomed 
hawthorns,  waiting  for  him,  clothed  in  dewy  gossamer, 
bugled  and  spangled  with  the  starry  treasures  of  the  flower- 
ing earth.  Then  they  roamed  together,  musing  and  filled 
with  sweet  converse,  while  the  souls  of  the  flowers  poured 
themselves  up  in  countless  aspiring  hosts.  Fragrant  lady- 
smock  in  hundreds — sweet  enough  and  pure  enough  to  lie  in 
the  bosom  of  a  girl ;  thousands  of  the  golden  kingcups  glowing 
in  the  marshy  carrs;  buttercups  uncountable,  millions  upon 
millions — wide  tropics  of  yellow  gold  enriching  and  enriching 
beyond  the  ken. 

There  he  wandered  in  these  evenings  of  June,  as  roamed 
Perseus  in  ancient  Thessaly,  meeting  Immortals  and  setting 
forth  solemnly  and  joyously  upon  his  dear  quest,  his  great 
travel. 

Kirk  lived  vividly  in  his  fine  sensuous  mind  and  body, 
deeply  understanding  the  flowers,  entering  into  the  delight 
and  beauty  of  the  sky  and  earth  with  ecstasy,  with  a  pure 
intoxication. 

But  his  spirit  sometimes  stood  as  it  were  afar  off,  and 
waited;  knowing  what  had  gone  long  before,  and  what  was 
again  to  come — listening  with  an  overwhelming  fear  of  sor- 
row for  the  first  far-off  sound  of  the  pursuer. 

149 


150  THE    BOEN    FOOL 

One  Sunday  morning  in  June  Kirk  walked  out  towards 
the  high  downs.  He  chose  bye-ways,  and  went  through  deep 
lanes,  worn  for  centuries  in  the  chalk.  The  vertical  chalky 
sides  of  these  well-nigh  forgotten  tracks  were  clothed  richly 
with  flowers  and  with  grasses — craneshill  showed  against 
the  creamy  rock,  tall  red  and  white  campions  reached  up, 
and  about  his  feet  the  most  brilliant  of  blue  veronica  jewelled 
the  deep  grass  through  which  he  gently  waded.  He  came 
upon  a  thousand  tall  Canterbury  bells  standing  in  one  great 
clump — glorious  wild-flowers  full  of  purple  depth.  Glimpses 
of  high  smooth  downs  showed  through  gaps  and  the  rare 
gateways.  The  oaks  were  very  late;  the  young  leaves  were 
all  tanned  delicately  to  an  ochreous  pink,  and  pink-cheeked 
oak-apples  were  among  them.  Thick  pollard  oaks  and  ash- 
trees  crouched  over  these  deep  hot  lanes.  Wild  clematis 
and  opening  honeysuckle  festooned  the  lower  branches  of 
the  scented  May.  When  near  the  foot  of  Junipen  he  left 
the  lane  to  go  into  a  large  and  long-deserted  chalk-pit.  One 
side  of  the  deep  recess  was  dazzling  white,  the  other,  in 
grateful  shade. 

How  silent  and  hot  it  was  inside.  .  .  .  No  sound  came  but 
a  faintly  carried  snatch  of  lark-song,  that  ineffably  moved 
him ;  and  once  again,  when  a  bee  swept  over  the  white  chasm 
from  edge  to  edge,  singing  on  the  wind  an  eager  happy  note. 
Full  of  a  sweet  wonder  and  poetry,  intensely  conscious  of 
the  Earth  and  all  her  beauty,  Kirk  ascended  the  huge  down, 
mounting  slowly  up  the  dry  mossy  grass. 

Having  reached  the  summit,  he  lay  down  on  his  back  in 
a  hollow — as  had  done  his  beloved  Richard  Jefferies — and 
he  looked  straight  up  into  space. 

The  summer  "Winds  of  Heaven,"  laden  with  the  scented 
breath  of  beanfields,  drew  up  the  smooth  slopes  beyond  him, 
leaped  over  the  hollow,  and  left  him  in  almost  still  air.  He 
could  hear  the  soft  fingers  of  the  air  drawn  through  the  gorse 
and  the  grass.  And  at  last  a  low  intermittent  rhapsody  of 
sheep-bells  made  him  rise:  and  ho  lay  on  his  breast  and 


THE    BORN    FOOL  151 

looked  down ;  there,  far  below  him,  he  saw  a  countless  flock 
of  sheep,  with  one  shepherd.  No  faint  rattling  of  myriad 
hoofs  ascended;  only  the  musical  "ponkling,"  now  heard, 
now  carried  away  by  the  hot  zephyrs. 

Far  away  to  the  south  and  hiding  the  sea  lay  the  Downs, 
stretching  east  and  west,  far  as  eye  could  reach.  A  tiny 
gap  marked  ancient  Winchester. 

Between  Kirk  and  those  downs  there  seemed  to  lie  a  val- 
ley of  vast  width;  full  of  trees  and  fields  and  woods  that 
faded  into  one  another.  The  distant,  bluer,  greener  patch, 
so  small,  was  Harewood  Forest.  The  trees  diminished  into 
blue  dots,  near  Winchester.  The  little  white  changing  spot 
he  watched;  creeping;  creeping;  for  so  long  hidden  away; 
then  out  again  like  an  ant  in  the  grass ;  that  was  the  steam 
from  a  liner-express,  "trailing  clouds  of  glory,"  flying  from 
Southampton  to  old  Basingstoke  and  on  upon  its  distant 
journey. 

Full  of  thought,  often  remaining  motionless  for  minutes, 
at  length  Kirk  unawares  fell  asleep. 

The  wondrous  nights  had  drawn  him  out  and  he  had  come 
in  late  evening  after  evening  from  musings  in  the  water- 
meadows  or  roamings  on  the  lonely  heaths. 

When  he  awoke  it  was  late  afternoon,  and  the  sun  had 
richly  browned  his  face  and  hands. 

Very  faintly  the  sweet  laughter  of  young  girls  rose  up 
to  him  from  the  old  prosperous  house  far  below,  a  south- 
country  farm,  standing  close  under  Junipen,  at  the  edge  of 
the  illimitable  open  sea  of  English  fields  and  downs. 

Overshadowing  beeches  had  gathered  protectingly  round 
the  homestead.  Looking  far  down,  as  he  lay,  Kirk  caught 
a  bright  glimpse  of  a  young  girl  in  pale  blue,  and  hatless. 
She  had  danced  across  the  lawn.  The  air  was  very  clear, 
his  eyes  were  perfect. 

Always  in  reverie  he  had  been  filled  by  lovely  dreams 
in  which  no  sound  of  a  young  girl's  voice  had  ever  consciously 


152  THE    BORN    FOOL 

thrilled  and  echoed.  ~No  voice  of  woman's  love  had  ever 
trembled  the  air,  the  silent  peace,  the  sunlight,  the  enchanted 
secret  glades  of  his  soul.  But  on  this  late  and  golden  after- 
noon— this  delicious  laughter,  silvery  and  rare,  seemed  to 
pierce  his  heart.  It  made  him  unaccountably,  inexpressibly 
sad.  A  sense  of  grief  unspeakable  came  to  him  like  a  premo- 
nition. 

By  another  road,  Kirk  walked  back  the  long  way  from 
Junipen  to  Cirenhampton.  He  went  meditatively,  through  a 
still  and  lonely  English  country-side,  under  over-arching 
trees,  in  the  gathering  dusk. 

From  an  old  convent  remote  among  the  darkening  wood- 
lands came  a  far  silver  voice,  tolling  the  Compline  or  the 
Angelus ;  a  solemn  pure  voice  from  mediaeval  times. 

Old  unconquered  sorrows,  long  lost  to  his  consciousness, 
arose  from  the  past  and  spread  dark  arms  above  his  soul, 
and  he  walked  sorrowfully  through  the  gloaming.  Those 
sorrows  were  to  be  re-entered.  His  reason  could  not  tell 
him  why  he  was  so  sad. 

He  met  no  one.  White  moths  fluttered  by  the  dewy 
hedges;  and  in  the  still  evening  air  as  it  cooled  bats  issued 
from  deserted  barns,  to  wheel  silently  across  the  appearing 
stars,  that  hung  in  depths  of  space. 

Unseen  night- jars,  crouching  lengthwise  on  the  level 
boughs,  in  the  black  and  resinous  gloom,  uttered  without  ceas- 
ing their  low,  unearthly  incantations;  and  in  the  loneliest 
places  of  the  formless  woods  solitary  nightingales  poured 
forth  their  mysterious  grief  and  rapture. 


CHAPTEE  XIX 

KIRK  had  given  the  first  month  of  his  new  life  almost 
wholly  to  his  work.  But  presently,  his  routine  estab- 
lished, he  had  more  time  for  breathing,  and  when  visiting 
a  section  he  would  first  scan  the  work,  deal  with  things  and 
men,  and  then  look  upon  the  geological.  He  began  system- 
atically to  take  evidence,  in  writing  and  by  measurements, 
of  all  strata  exposed  by  the  numerous  excavations.  He  be- 
gan to  connote  and  theorise  upon  the  evidence.  Very  soon 
he  gave  Bill  a  forecast  of  the  "muck"  that  would  be  met 
with  on  the  "No.  7  Line."  He  prophesied  it  would  be  treach- 
erous running  sand.  Bill  was  dubious  but  respectful.  Be- 
fore the  turf  had  been  removed,  Kirk  had  the  prepared 
special  timber  "runners"  all  stacked  ready  for  the  bad 
ground.  His  forecast  proved  true;  Bill  had  hoped  that  it 
would  not. 

"But,"  said  Kirk,  "don't  worry  yourself,  Bill,  for  we 
shall  strike  no  more  of  it." 

Many  interesting  and  unique  antiquities  had  lain  buried 
under  Cirenhampton  and  were  now  brought  to  light;  and 
Kirk  found  himself  attracted  keenly  by  the  historic,  as  well 
as  by  the  pre-historic. 

Cannon-balls,  sword-fragments,  and  other  relics  of  the 
Civil  War,  were  frequent  in  the  topmost  layer.  Below  this, 
in  the  persistent  thicknesses  of  many  ancient  road-mendings, 
were  found  things  Elizabethan;  below  these  again  were  Ro- 
man tiles  and  pottery,  spatulse,  horseshoes  of  bronze  and 
iron,  also  large  soft-headed  nails  whose  heads  were  rough 
with  fine,  indented,  triturated  flint — a  condition  that 
greatly  puzzled  Kirk. 

153 


154  THE    BORN    FOOL 

Deep  below  these  human-made  deposits  came  Neolithic 
peats  and  marls,  charged  with  razor-like  flint  weapons,  carved 
bones,  charcoal  layers  and  burnt  flints.  Deeper  still,  and  far 
more  archaic,  were  found  ruder  stone  weapons;  and  of  the 
mammoth,  mighty  bones  that  now  lay  in  river-gravels  far 
from  the  present  river.  At  these  depths  Kirk  found  also 
the  bones  of  ancestral  reindeer,  reindeer  owned  or  hunted 
once-upon-a-time  by  the  old  race  of  long-headed  men,  be- 
fore France  and  England  were  divided  by  twenty  miles  of 
sea. 

Kirk  could  not  resist  taking  up  and  caring  for  all  these 
rare  and  precious  relics.  He  began  day-by-day  to  collect 
them. 

Bill  at  first  viewed  Kirk's  hobby  with  secret  surprise  and 
a  puzzled  good  humour,  but  Kirk  said  to  him — "It  was  by 
the  evidence  of  these  things  and  the  notes  and  measure- 
ments I  made,  that  I  told  you  about  the  muck  in  No.  7." 
And  that  afternoon,  Colquhoun  himself  sternly  and  gravely 
gave  the  order  to  every  ganger: 

"All  rum  stuff  as  is  turned  up  is  to  be  kep'  for  Mr.  Clin- 
ton, and  mind!  don't,  you,  let,  me,  ketch,  you,  a-letting  any 
of  them  Worsted  villagers  a-sneaking-any  thing  !"-  -"If  our 
young  hingineer  wornts  thet  stuff:  let-'im-'ev-it !  'E's,  mose, 
right."  "There  ain't  no  hentiquity  clause  in  the  specifica- 
tion— corze  'e  and  me,  looked-it-up-d'yee-see  ?" 

It  was  shortly  after  this  order  had  become  very  effective 
that  Kirk,  one  showery  morning,  saw  a  tall,  fine,  grey-haired 
man — wrapped  somewhat  artistically  in  a  great  black  cloak — 
and  gazing  down  upon  a  piece  of  Samian  ware  that  lay  near 
the  edge  of  a  trench. 

This  obvious  aristocrat,  and  something  more,  was  a  Mr. 
Ferrars  Lucy:  and  at  this  moment  he  looked  vexed  and  dis- 
satisfied. A  navvy  standing  in  the  shallow  trench  with  his 
shovel  drew  the  ^beautiful  fragment  of  pottery  closer  to  him- 
self, for  he  had  just  refused  it  to  this  stranger,  who  now 
turned  away. 


THE    BOKN    FOOL  155 

Kirk  came  and  gave  the  man  two  pence.  He  picked  up 
the  prize  and  hastened  after  Mr.  Lucy,  to  whom  he  spoke — 

"Sir,  I  saw  that  you  appreciated  this  ...  will  you  ac- 
cept it?" 

Mr.  Lucy's  quick  glance  shot  from  the  pottery  to  Kirk's 
face  and  remained  there.  He  smiled,  and  Kirk  smiled  back. 
Soon  they  were  deep  in  conversation,  and  went  to  look  at 
several  of  the  nearest  excavations.  A  strong  mutual  attrac- 
tion worked  in  them,  and  before  parting  Mr.  Lucy,  although 
thirty  years  the  senior  of  Kirk,  decided  that  he  had  found  a 
kindred  spirit. 

Ferrars  Lucy  was  an  historian  and  archaeologist  of  con- 
siderable note.  He  was  a  wellknown  Fellow  of  the  Anti- 
quarian Society,  was  an  authority  upon  ancient  glass,  and 
had  written  much  on  Norman  times  and  life.  He  was 
wealthy,  and  lived  in  his  own  ancestral  pre-Elizabethan 
home — Cloud  Agnell,  distant  about  one  mile  from  Ciren- 
hampton.  The  old  Early-English  pile  was  curious  and  beau- 
tiful, and  Mr.  Lucy  always  pointed  out  with  perennial  grief 
and  wonder  how,  in  1688,  a  Lucy  had  seen  fit  vandal ously 
to  add  a  Jacobin  porch !  and  substitute  for  the  high  secluding 
•walls  built  round  the  gardens  in  Henry  Eighth  days — the 
present  scalloped  walls  and  seventeenth-century  gateway. 

On  the  Sunday  but  one  following  that  first  meeting  in  the 
street,  Kirk,  about  noon,  having  made  a  careful  toilet,  set 
off  on  foot  for  Cloud  Agnell. 

A  few  days  before  this  he  had  met  and  talked  again  with 
Mr.  Lucy,  and  in  the  same  evening  came  a  pleasant  note 
from  Mrs.  Lucy : — 

"Cloud  Agnell. 

"Wednesday. 
"DEAR  MR.  CLINTON, 

"My  husband  has  told  me  about  you,  and  we  shall  be  so  pleased  if 
you  will  dine  with  us  next  Sunday — that  is,  if  it  will  be  quite  con- 


156  THE    BORN    FOOL 

venient  for  you — and  we  hope  you  will  spend  the  afteraoon  and 
evening  here — if  you  care  to. 

"We  are  only  three — my  husband,  my  daughter,  and  myself.  We 
dine  at  one  o'clock. 

"Please  let  me  know  if  you  can  come. 

"Yours  sincerely, 

"MARGARET  LUCY." 

The  Sunday  came  as  a  glorious  blue  day  of  June.  Every 
window  at  Cloud  Agnell  had  stood  wide  open  all  the  morn- 
ing. The  roses  were  at  the  full  of  their  first  sweet  and  vigor- 
ous flush.  Long  borders  of  white  pinks  scented  the  air  like 
clove.  From  the  row  of  elms  that  bounded  Cloud  Agnell  on 
the  east,  came  ripples  of  bright  song  from  two  happy  chaf- 
finches who  sang  alternately,  hidden  somewhere  in  the  deep 
shade  of  noon. 

In  the  drawing-room  at  midday  were  seated  Mrs.  Lucy 
and  her  daughter  Beatrice.  The  mother  was  a  vivacious 
woman  of  forty;  she  was  elegantly  dressed,  and  she  looked 
much  younger  than  her  age.  Not  a  single  line  of  silver 
showed  in  her  full  and  glossy  mass  of  dark  hair.  Her 
brown  eyes,  large  and  beautiful,  her  fine  eyebrows,  the  deli- 
cate nose  and  natural  pink  and  white  of  her  face,  made  her 
a  very  handsome  woman ;  and  her  figure  was  that  of  a  young 
matron  of  thirty. 

She  had  been  seated  near  the  large  window  but  a  few 
minutes  when  she  rose  again,  smiling  to  herself,  and  then 
walked  a  little  aimlessly  but  quickly  about  the  room,  until 
she  returned  to  the  window.  Here  she  lightly  rested  the  tips 
of  her  white  and  pointed  fingers  on  a  Sheraton  table  as  she 
stooped,  to  touch  with  her  face  a  bowl  of  red  and  white 
roses. 

"Delicious!"  cried  she,  again  dipping  her  face  in  the 
flowers  and  scent.  Then  moving  only  her  supple  neck  and 
shoulders  she  glanced  round  at  Beatrice — who  sat  dreamily 
in  a  small  open-wood  arm-chair.  The  girl  was  a  virgin  like- 
ness of  her  mother,  but  with  a  difference.  She  showed  a 


THE    BOKN    FOOL  157 

graver  face  and  more  thoughtful  brow.  One  pretty  hand 
and  arm  hung  down  outside  the  light  woodwork  of  the  chair ; 
the  other  hand  held  a  small  green-leather  book, — the  Ro- 
maunt  of  Isolde — in  which  Beatrice  read,  near  to  the  end. 

Mrs.  Lucy  looked  out  over  the  gardens,  through  which 
came  the  drive.  Smiling,  she  turned  and  looked  a  second 
time  at  Beatrice — who  seemed  conscious  of  the  glance,  and 
let  her  book  sink  on  the  chair-arm.  She  raised  her  face  and 
smiled  back — a  world  of  sweetness  in  her  dark  eyes. 

"Mother  dear?  .  .  ." 

"I  believe  you're  really  in  love  with  that  wretched  Tris- 
tan!" 

"No,  dear  .  .  .  but  with  Isolde  ..."  said  Beatrice,  smil- 
ing inscrutably. 

Mrs.  Lucy  considered  this  a  second  and  then  turned  to  the 
garden. 

"I  don't  see  dad's  young  man  coming !  What  is  the  time, 
Beata?  I  hope  he's  a  presentable  creature;  father  never 
knows  how  they  are  dressed,  who  they  are,  or  anything  es- 
sential— " 

"Of  course  he  is,  mother,  or  father  would  not  have  been 
so  taken  with  him — he  said  he  was  about  thirty  and  talked 
most  beautifully." 

The  young  girl  put  her  book  down,  to  come  and  stand  be- 
side her  mother. 

"How  lovely  you  do  look!  darling  .  .  ."  said  Beatrice, 
eyeing  her  mother  closely  and  affectionately.  She  put  her 
arm  round  her  mother's  waist  and  clasped  her  a  little. 

"Well;  I  only  hope  I  keep  young  like  you!"  She  laid 
her  head  on  her  mother's  shoulder,  and  Mrs.  Lucy  curved 
her  neck  and  kissed  the  fair  cheek,  saying,  "Goodness !  child, 
of  course  you  will !  But  I  was  married  before  I  was  your 
age.  .  .  .  Oh !  there  he  is !"  cried  Mrs.  Lucy,  and  Beatrice 
stood  up  to  look.  They  could  watch  him,  but  he  could  not 
see  them. 


158  THE    BORN    FOOL 

"His  clothes  fit  him  ...  I  think  he's  a  gentleman,"  said 
the  mother. 

"A  straw  hat  becomes  him! — why,  mum!  he's  quite 
young!" 

"Run,  Beata-love,  and  try  and  find  father !" 

Kirk  was  now  passing  the  window  at  a  little  distance  and 
his  sunburnt  face  was  quite  nearly  observable.  Beatrice 
took  another  peep  and  then  lightly  left  the  room. 

Though  they  were  of  a  far  more  impressionable,  delicate, 
and  conscious  nature,  her  feelings  were  very  like  those  of 
a  young  man  who  is  knowingly  about  to  meet  an  attractive- 
looking  girl. 

Kirk  arrived  beneath  the  Jacobin  porch  and  was  about 
to  ring  when  the  oaken  door  opened  slowly  from  inside  and 
he  was  bowed  in  solemnly  by  William,  an  old  servitor  in 
black  livery. 

Kirk  found  himself  in  a  cool  ancient  hall,  lit  by  a  large 
stained-glass  window.  Around  the  walls  glittered  old 
Genoese  and  Saracenic  armour,  and  coloured  light  was  re- 
flected from  many  polished  battle-axes,  pikes  and  swords. 
As  Kirk  opened  his  card-case  he  heard  steps,  and  William 
said,  "Mr.  Lucy  and  Miss  Beatrice,  Sir." 

Mr.  Lucy  came  forward  quickly,  smiling  and  putting  for- 
ward both  hands — 

"I'm  delighted  you've  come !  This  is  my  daughter,  Beat- 
rice— Miss  Lucy — Mr.  Clinton." 

Kirk  looked  in  her  eyes,  and  then  bowed.  Beatrice  went 
with  them  to  the  drawing  room — thinking  to  herself,  "I  like 
him,  I  like  him  not :  I  like  him  much,  I  like  him  not  a  bit — 
what  is  it  in  him  ?"  Mrs.  Lucy  was  speaking — 

ftl  suppose  you  find  Cirenhampton  a  very  quiet  place,  Mr. 
Clinton  ?  But  Beatrice  and  I  love  the  country." 

"But  so  do  I!  Why!  I  loathe  cities,  Mrs.  Lucy,  and  I 
am  newly  and  deeply  in  love  with  the  South,"  said  Kirk, 
smiling  and  looking  down. 


THE    BORN    FOOL  159 

"But  you  do  like  London,  mother,"  said  Beatrice,  mis- 
chievously. 

"Of  course,  dear,  but  I'm  always  glad  to  find  myself  back 
in  the  pure  air.  We  spend  all  our  days  out  of  doors,  Mr. 
Clinton,  don't  we,  Beata  ?  We  garden,  and  sew,  and  do  ac- 
counts, and  pick  the  heads  and  tails  off  gooseberries  and 
black  currants  for  cook,  and  read,  and  what  not,  mostly  in 
that  old  summer  house  over  there" — Mrs.  Lucy  pointed  to 
it.  "Cook's  very  good  but  in  the  kitchen  they  always  leave 
half  the  heads  and  tails  on !  and  my  husband  is  so  particular ! 
Men  are  so  faddy  over  food — when  they  happen  to  notice 
what  they  are  eating !" 

"Really,  dear !"  interjected  Mr.  Lucy,  laughing. 

"You  read  a  great  deal,  Mr.  Clinton  ?  My  husband  said 
he  thought  you  were  a  great  reader.  Have  you  read  Hardy's 
latest  ?  'A  Laodicean'  ?  Beata  and  I  don't  like  it  as  well  as 
the  'Woodlanders.'  " 

"I'm  afraid  I  haven't  read  them, — it  seems  a  waste,  for 
me,  to  read  novels,  when  there  are  so  many  great  books — 
classics — more  than  one  can  hope  to  read  even  in  a  life- 
time .  .  ." 

"But  all  young  men  should  read  novels!  They  are  such 
an  education,"  said  Mrs.  Lucy. 

"Well  .  .  ."  said  Kirk,  smiling — "I  have  read  nearly 
every  one  of  the  poets,  and  surely  they  cannot  be  surpassed  ?" 

Beatrice  laughed  gently,  glanced  from  her  mother  to  Kirk 
and  said — 

"They  write  of  the  ideal,  do  they  not,  Mr.  Clinton  ?  But 
Hardy  writes  of  the  real — of  real  men  and  real  women; 
mother  and  I  read  every  one." 

"I  did  try  one,  I  remember,  but  it  had  split  infinitives  in 
it,  I  think  it  had,  and  was  entirely  about  ever  so  much  de- 
lay and  worry  and  trouble  over  some  one  who  had  fallen  in 
love  with  some  girl ;  and  the  split  infinitives — I  think  they 
were  in  that  book — so  astonished  me." 

"Ha !  ha !  ha !"  heartily  laughed  Mr.  Lucy  at  his  women- 


160  THE  BOR:NT  FOOL 

folk — and  then  at  Kirk — while  Beatrice  blushed  slightly — 
"You  are  suhtle!  You  are  subtle,  Clinton! — Pretends  he 
knows  nothing  of  these  things !  Don't  you  see  he's  cleverly 
ironical ?" 

It  was  now  Kirk  who  blushed  as  he  spoke — 

"I  am  sorry  .  .  .  but  I  spoke  quite  sincerely  .  .  .  I  cp.n- 
not  understand  it  ...  fully.  It  seems  to  interfere  so  much, 
all  that,  with  great  and  real  things." 

"Well !  Well !"  laughed  Mr.  Lucy,  and  his  wife  archly 
asked  Kirk, 

"Then  you  are  a  woman-hater?" 

"Me !  No  I  No  indeed !  Why  should  you  think  that,  Mrs. 
Lucy?  ...  I  think  they  are  heavenly,  so  infinitely  differ- 
ent from  men,  .  .  .  they  are  like  Mature  .  .  .  especially 
the  young  girls.  .  .  .  Why !  they  are  like  the  pure  and  sweet 
flowers !" 

"And  if  plucked  they  wither  ?"  cried  Mr.  Lucy. 

"...  I  have  not  thought  all  about  them  yet,  but  they  are 
delightful  to  watch — all  good  women  are." 

"Mr.  Clinton !"  said  Mrs.  Lucy,  "my  prescription  for  you 
is  an  immediate  thorough  course  of  Hardy  and  Meredith!" 

Thought  Beatrice  to  herself — "He's  a  nice  fellow — I  like 
him — a  quite  uncommon,  clever  boy — but  far  too  wrapped  up 
in  himself  and  his  thoughts — even  now  he  is,  this  minute." 

".  .  .  You  see,  I  come  from  the  Midlands,"  said  Kirk, 
speaking  impersonally — "and  all  there  ...  all  the  scenery, 
is  more  meditative  .  .  .  less  joyous  and  young  than  here — 
that  is  what  I  feel;  here  one  is  further  from  iron:  that,  I 
think,  must  be  the  geological  reason." 

At  this  moment  a  bell  rang,  and  Mrs.  Lucy  stood  up  brisk- 
ly, exclaiming — 

"Dinner!  I  hope  you  are  hungry,  Mr.  Clinton?  All 
young  folk  should^  be !" 

"I'll  do  my  best!"  said  Kirk,  cheerfully. 

"That's  right!  Come  along,  all  of  you — we've  a  salmon 
from  Eomsey,  killed  by  a  doting  friend  of  Beatrice's." 


THE   BOKN   FOOL  161 

"He's  not  my  friend  altogether!"  cried  Beatrice,  laugh- 
ing and  blushing,  "he's  more  mother's  than  mine." 

Mr.  Lucy,  standing,  said  grace,  and  as  he  seated  himself 
Kirk  asked, 

"Do  you  remember  the  Scottish  Grace  ?" 

"No,  what  was  it  ?" 

"If  the  meenister  had  dined  well  with  a  member  of  the 
kirk,  he  said, 

"  'Oh  Lord !  for  all  Thy  good  and  manifold  blessings 
vouchsafed  to  us  this  day,  we  deeply  thank  Thee';  but  if 
the  dinner  was  a  poor  one,  he  said — 

"  'Oh  Lord !  even  for  these,  even  the  verra  least  of  Thy 
merrcies,  we  give  Thee  thanks.'  " 

Mr.  Lucy,  laughing,  asked  Kirk — 

"Are  you  a  Presbyterian  ?" 

"No." 

"What  then  ?    Church  of  England,  of  course  ?" 

"I  like  it  best,"  said  Kirk,  somewhat  indifferently,  and 
Beatrice  asked  him — 

"But  don't  you  attend  Church,  Mr.  Clinton  ?" 

"Well — Miss  Lucy — I  go  every  Sunday  to  hear  Dr.  Green- 
field preach." 

"Oh?    Who  is  he?" 

"Silly!"  laughed  her  mother.  "Mr.  Clinton  means  he 
goes  for  a  walk!" 

"I  take  a  book  with  me — or  I  paint  wild  flowers — or  just 
sit  and  think,  if  it  is  too  hot  and  lovely." 

"So  you  paint?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Lucy,  greatly  interested. 
"Well,  I  began  with  water  colours  three  years  ago ! — just  to 
keep  Beata  company!" 

"That  reminds  me  of  something,"  said  Kirk.  "A  man 
who  paints  seascapes  told  me  that  Moore  never  touched  can- 
vas until  he  was  fifty-five, — and  Moore  made  a  name — and 
he  began  a  full  twenty  years  later  than  you  have  done,  Mrs. 
Lucy." 

"Quite  sure  ?"  quizzed  Mr.  Lucy,  laughing. 


162  THE    BOKN    FOOL 

"Positive,"  replied  Kirk,  glancing  admiringly  at  Mrs. 

Lucy. 

"Well !"  cried  she.     "If  you  will  show  us  yours,  we  will 

show  you  ours !" 

"I  will  with  pleasure.  .  .  .  But  mine  are  only  queer  little 
things— still,  I'll  bring  them  so  I  may  see  yours.  Painting 
attracts  me  very  much." 

"Those  are  some  of  mother's,  those  on  each  side  the  fire- 
place," said  Beatrice.  "Her  trees  worry  her  dreadfully; 
she  will  never  touch  them  while  I  watch  her." 

"And  Beata  can  only  do  old  houses  and  gardens !" 

"Yes,  we  always  sit  back  to  back;  but  remember,  Mr. 
Clinton,  you  have  promised  to  bring  your  own  sketches !" 

"Oh !  all  right,  but  they  are  very  small  and  rather  queer, 
and  it  takes  me  at  least  six  hours  to  do  one  wee  one." 

"Why!  that's  like  me!"  cried  Beatrice.  "But  mum  se- 
cretes all  my  biggest  brushes,  and  simply  flops  away  with 
them  at  ever  such  a  rate !— half  her  time  she  waits  for  the 
paper  to  dry !" 

Cloud  Agnell  held  a  rich  treasury  of  antique  art,  enliv- 
ened by  many  beautiful  water  colours,  big  and  little,  painted 
by  the  mother  and  the  daughter.  In  this  ancient  house  Kirk 
soon  felt  deeply  at  home,  soothed,  and  in  his  natural  environ- 
ment. He  spent  all  the  afternoon  with  Mr.  Lucy— detailing 
to  him,  and  sketching  for  him,  the  strata  of  Cirenhampton 
and  their  contents.  His  host  was  delightful,  such  was  the 
knowledge  he  possessed,  so  interestingly  did  he  converse,  and 
so  winning  were  his  manners.  Mrs.  Lucy  in  the  drawing- 
room  after  tea,  and  despite  her  husband's  silent  dissent,  gave 
Kirk  a  full  and  most  amusing  description  of  Cirenhampton 
society,  and,  after  supper,  Beatrice  played  the  violin  very 
sweetly  and  truly,  while  her  mother  gave  a  delicate  accom- 
paniment. Their  music  was  of  a  high  order,  and  ravished 
the  soul  of  Kirk.  He  accepted  gratefully  an  invitation  to 


THE    BORN   FOOL  163 

return  next  Sunday,  and  lie  walked  home  late  at  night,  in  a 
charmed  state  of  body,  soul,  and  spirit. 

Kirk  and  Mr.  Lucy  had  talked  over  the  question  of  the 
splendid  finds  daily  turned  up  in  Cirenhampton.  There  was 
no  museum,  but  Kirk  said  that  if  a  museum  were  started  he 
certainly  would  give  all  his  collection  to  it;  and  if  such  a 
movement  came  to  nothing,  then  he  and  Mr.  Lucy  would 
make  a  division  of  spoils,  the  scientific  and  prehistoric  to 
Kirk,  and  the  antiquities  to  Mr.  Lucy — barring  a  few  pre- 
cious things  that  Kirk  desired  to  keep:  among  them  a  girl's 
open-work  Elizabethan  shoes,  a  great  demi-culverin  ball,  a 
fragment  of  gilded  Norman  chain-mail,  and  two  skulls  of 
Saxon  origin,  deeply  sword-smitten,  that  brought  forgotten 
memories  of — 

"Old  unhappy  far-off  things, 
And  battles  long  ago." 

Next  Sunday,  Kirk  found  two  other  guests  at  the  Lucys'. 
The  one,  an  iron-grey  colonel  home  from  India,  who  gave 
attention  solely  to  Beatrice  and  Mrs.  Lucy ;  the  other,  an  old 
man,  with  a  splendid  brow,  an  open  noble  face,  a  great  shock 
of  snow-white  hair,  a  white  clipped  beard,  and  the  bright 
sparkling  eyes  and  animation  of  a  young  man.  This  was 
Professor  Eally,  F.K.S.,  F.G.L,  F.S.A.,  etc.  He  had  been 
born  at  Cirenhampton,  and  was  a  very  old  friend  of  the 
Lucys.  He  now  lived  in  London,  where  he  had  charge  of  a 
government  museum.  From  Mr.  Lucy  he  had  heard  dila- 
torily about  the  excavations,  and  at  once  had  hastened  down, 
eager  for  research,  and  with  an  eye  to  additions  for  his  own 
museum. 

He  was  a  man  generous,  honourable,  unselfish,  intuitive, 
and  he  was  one  markedly  distinguished  in  scientific  circles. 
Kirk  knew  the  latter  fact,  but  he  knew  not  his  character. 
The  desire  for  retribution  against  the  Reverend  Blenk,  though 
neglected,  still  smouldered  on.  He  was  preparing  that  revenge 


164  THE   BORN   FOOL 

at  leisure,  and  in  his  own  way.  Kirk's  host  had  written  to 
Professor  Rally,  telling  him  of  Kirk,  and,  somehow,  he  hoped 
great  things  from  their  meeting.  He  had  been  much  taken 
by  Kirk's  wide  reading,  by  his  idealism,  his  appreciation  of 
beauty  of  nature,  and  of  Ancient  Art ;  and  especially  was  he 
impressed  by  the  peculiar  union  of  these  with  so  obvious  an 
aptitude  for  civil  engineering. 

The  Professor — on  being  introduced — at  once  opened  a 
fire  of  questions  upon  Kirk,  mentioning  that  Lucy  had  told 
him  of  the  admirable  records,  the  organised  collection  of 
materia,  the  excellent  water-colour  sections,  that  Kirk  had 
made. 

But  to  Mr.  Lucy's  extreme  secret  surprise  Kirk  merely 
bowed,  smiled,  seemed  quite  dull  and  indifferent,  and  evaded 
every  question  with  subtle  replies  that  constantly  led  away 
to  other  things  and  other  places. 

Professor  Rally  suddenly  dropped  his  subject,  and  was 
silent  a  few  minutes;  and  then  he  and  Lucy  mutually  re- 
counted great  archaeological  days  they  had  spent  together,  re- 
calling funny  things — the  wonderful  Roman  coin  brought  to 
them,  green  with  centuries,  and  bearing  the  impress  "150 
B.  o./'  and  Kirk  listened  eagerly,  and  laughed  with  the  two 
elders. 

The  following  Sunday  again  found  Kirk  at  Cloud  Agnell ; 
and,  after  early  cups  of  tea,  Beatrice  with  Kirk  and  her 
father  walked  out  along  a  hedge-path.  This  led  through 
deeply  undulating  country-side — full  of  scents  of  honeysuckle 
— and  through  richly  nourished  fields  of  rising  corn,  and  so 
onwards  to  a  winding  grass-lane. 

In  this  they  walked  between  immense  hedges,  that  now 
were  covered  by  the  wild  June  roses — pale  and  widely  open 
in  the  shade  and  delicately  flushed  in  the  hot  and  slanting 
sunbeams. 

Mr.  Lucy  and  the  two  young  people  stopped  a  few  mo- 
ments beneath  a  noble  line  of  elms.  From  these,  great 
shadows  lay  out  over  a  sloping  field  of  vivid  yellow  charlock, 


THE   BORN   FOOL  105 

and  across  a  pure  crimson  spread  of  dark  trifolium.  Kirk 
was  quite  moved,  for  lie  had  not  before  seen  this,  the  most 
beautiful,  the  most  striking  of  all  flowering  fields — crimson 
trifolium  in  mass — for,  as  he  said  to  them,  "It  is  a  dark 
flawless  ruby,  worn  only  on  the  lovely  breast  of  this  beloved 
South." 

The  trio  walked  on,  and  presently  arrived  at  a  small  grey- 
green  church  set  quite  by  itself  upon  the  verge  of  a  wild  up- 
land heath. 

Mr.  Lucy,  some  years  before,  while  poring  in  Norman 
manuscript  and  searching  for  quite  other  information,  had 
read  of  mural  paintings  in  this  church  done  by  one  Fra 
Belesme. 

Three  years  ago,  now,  upon  a  certain  ardent  afternoon, 
Mr.  Lucy  and  the  incumbent,  both  archaeologists,  removed  the 
back  from  a  seventeenth-century  chancel  stall  and  carefully 
flaked  off  a  little  plaster,  and  then  some  more,  and  lo !  a  dis- 
closure of  painting — the  sienna-hued  lines  of  a  sandalled  foot. 
Later,  by  skilled  men  the  plaster  was  all  removed.  Figures 
of  saints  and  angels  were  now  seen  to  cover  the  whole  of  the 
chancel  walls.  Mr.  Lucy  had  brought  Kirk  to  see  this  tri- 
umph of  research.  Kirk  sat  by  Beatrice  in  the  cool,  very 
ancient  place  of  worship,  and  looked  at  the  Norman  faces 
on  the  walls,  and  he  thought  of  Beatrice's  face,  and  of  her 
father's:  there  was  a  likeness  undeniable,  and  he  knew  the 
Lucys  had  descended  in  unbroken  line  right  from  those  days, 
over  seven  hundred  years  ago. 

"It  must  be  good  to  know  so  much  of  one's  ancestry" — 
thought  he — "it  must  explain  so  much  of  one's  self,  to  one's 
self."  He  looked  out  through  a  leaded,  clear-glass  but  medige- 
val  window,  and  thought  back  into  the  past,  and  wondered 
how  his  old  landscape  had  looked  seven  hundred  years  be- 
fore this  evening.  But  at  this  moment  the  pretty  Beatrice 
smiling  discreetly  whispered  something  to  him — 

"I  forgot  to  warn  you !  the  old  clerk  reads  the  lessons,  he'a 
rather  peculiar !" 


166  THE    BORN    FOOL 

This  old  functionary  now  approached  the  lectern ;  his  face 
was  remarkably  sour,  and  he  began  to  read  very  deliberately, 
with  a  continual  accent  of  aggression  and  surprise: — 

"In  the  third  reign,  of  'ard-word,  King  of  Judah,  came 
'ard-word  King  of  Babylon,  into  Jeehoorusalem,  and  be- 
sieged it.  And  the  Lord,  gave  'ard-word,  King  of  Judah, 
into  'is  'and — " 

But  it  was  Beatrice  who  first  gave  way  to  a  nervous  irre- 
sistible desire  to  laugh,  and  when  Kirk  during  prayers  found 
her  shaking  silently  beside  him,  he  laughingly  whispered, 
"This  is  too  unkind  of  you !  I  shall  have  to  go  out !" — and 
poor  Beatrice  was  again  seized,  though  in  terror  of  the  end 
of  the  prayer,  and  aware  that  her  father,  though  indulgent, 
was  quite  used  to  this  strange  "  'ardwordness" — and  was  al- 
ready a  little  vexed  at  her  behaviour,  which  she  now  felt 
powerless  to  control.  Indeed  it  had  reached  that  painful 
and  very  infectious  state  of  nervous  tittering,  known  to  most 
young  folk  at  some  time  or  another  in  a  serious  or  public 
place. 

During  the  hymn  Kirk  and  Beatrice  shared  the  same  book, 
and  Kirk  said,  "At  the  end  of  this  verse  we  go  straight  out 
through  that  side-door ;  you  follow  me." 

Beatrice  obeyed  him,  and  they  left  the  church  quietly,  but 
blushing,  and  feeling  every  eye  was  upon  them.  They  went 
along  the  flint  gravel  path  that  crunched  too  loudly,  but 
quickly  they  passed  over  and  below  the  heath,  and  they  drew 
free  breath.  The  inclination  to  laugh  had  passed,  and  be- 
tween them  Kirk  felt  an  unexpected  shyness.  They  loitered 
slowly  along  beneath  the  arching  lane.  Beatrice  seemed  to 
avoid  his  occasional  glance.  She  began  to  gather  wild  flowers, 
stooping  gracefully  to  take  small  fox-gloves  and  a  few  tall 
white  campions.  He  stood  behind  her,  and  she  spoke, 

"We're  so  glad  .  .  .  Mater  and  I  ...  that  you  and 
father  like  each  other  .  .  ." 

"Are  you?  Why?  I  didn't  know  that.  ...  I  am  so 
glad!" 


THE    BORN   FOOL  167 

Beatrice  arranging  the  flowers  turned  to  him  and  spoke 
diffidently,  though  knowing  that  he  would  understand — 

"He  used  to  get  so  bored,  you  see.  We  cannot  really  talk 
to  him  intelligently  about  fossils  and  old  things,  and  he  isn't 
as  musical  as  you  are.  He  so  wanted  a  companion  in  hi8 
hobbies,  some  one  clever,  and  mother  and  I  knew  that,  al- 
though he  didn't,  I  think;  being  by  himself  so  much,  with 
two  women.  He  has  so  few  friends,  and  those  all  at  a  dis- 
tance— of  course  we  know  plenty  of  people.  .  .  ." 

Kirk  felt  pleased  and  touched,  but  sorry,  for  his  mind 
flashed  on  to  the  end  of  the  works  and  his  departure,  and  he 
replied  to  her : 

"But  you  are  dearer  to  him  than  any  fossil." 

"Ah  yes,"  said  Beatrice  smiling  sweetly — "I  know,  in  that 
way  .  .  .  but  would  you  be  happy  if  you  had  only  women 
companions?"  As  she  spoke  she  was  again  bending  among 
the  pink  willow  herb. 

"...  I  think  that  I  should ;  I've  always  imagined  that  my 
greatest  friend  will  be  a  girl.  The  only  ones,  real  friends 
I've  felt  affection  for  are — one,  no:  two  women  and  two 
girls." 

"Two  girls!" 

"Why,  you  see,  one  was  mother,  one  is  my  great  aunt, 
one's  my  sister,  and  the  other  is  a  girl  I  knew  for  a  time  until 
I  was  sixteen." 

"Oh!  .  .  .  What  was  she  like?" 

"She  was  very  gentle,  and  made  you  feel  so  calm  and  at 
peace ;  and  I  remember  I  told  her  all  kinds  of  things  I  thought 
about  at  that  time." 

"How  old  was  she  ?" 

"Older  than  I  was :  about  as  old  as  you  are  now." 

"How  old  am  I  ?"  asked  she. 

Kirk  laughed  and  Beatrice  turned  and  smiled  at  him  with 
some  hidden  thought,  while  he  regarded  her. 

"Eighteen  ?" 

"No,  I'm  nineteen.  .  .  .  Was  her  hair  dark  ?" 


168  THE   BOKST   FOOL 

"No,  quite  fair,  very  pale  brown,  and  grey  eyes." 

"Do  you  like  dark  hair  best  ?" 

"You  do,  of  course!" — Kirk  was  smiling  and  Beatrice, 
surprised  at  bis  sally,  bad  laugbed  and  coloured  a  little. 

"Sbe  was  not  as  ...  well ! — as  pretty,  and  enchanting,  as 
you  are,  Miss  Lucy." 

"Oh!  thank  you!" 

Again,  he  could  not  see  her  face. 

"I  had  no  idea  you  even  noticed  us  poor  things!"  said 
she. 

"Why!  What  a  humbug!  .  .  .  you  must  know  that  I 
deeply  like  women,  and  you,  and  your  mother." 

She  glanced  sideways  and  saw  his  reddened  cheek. 

"Yes  ...  I  was  only  funning — Shall  we  go  back  and  meet 
father?" 

"I  do  like  dark  hair  best,  and  dark  eyes,  they've  more 
emotion,  dark  men  and  women — except  when  they've  steely 
eyes — like  me." 

"They're  not  steely,  are  they  ?  Aren't  they  dark  ?  May  I 
look?" 

They  laughed,  feeling  a  delicious  confidence  of  some  kind 
— and  Beatrice  looked  into  Kirk's  clear-cut  eyee — and  in- 
stantly looked  away. 

"Yes  ...  I  fancied  your  eyes  were  dark,  they're  grey 
now,  but  at  night  they  go  nearly  black." 

"Simply  marvellous!"  whimsically  cried  Kirk,  making 
her  laugh  again,  and  then  Mr.  Lucy  joined  them,  and  said 
they  were  quite  disgraceful,  while  Beatrice  danced  along  on 
his  arm  in  a  sudden  mood  of  gaiety. 

"How  acutely  clever  of  you,  dad,  to  race  the  congregation ! 
— in  another  moment  we  should  have  set  off  home,  I  never 
•ould  hare  faced  them  again !" 


A 


CHAPTER  XX 

FEW  days  later  Kirk  was  surprised  and  touched  by 
a  letter  he  received  from  Professor  Rally: — 


"DEAR  MR.  CLINTON, 

"My  old  friend  Lucy  has  written  and  told  me  all  about  yonr  dis- 
appointment over  your  discoveries.  It  never  occurred  to  me  that 
you  were  the  'Clintoniensis'  of  those  valuable  novo  species.  I  under- 
stand, I  am  sure,  your  wounded  feelings ;  but  do  not,  my  dear  fellow, 
allow  yourself  to  judge  all  by  the  shortcomings  of  one.  I  Buffered 
a  very  similar  wrong  in  my  own  youth,  and  the  best  thing  is  to  dis- 
miss it  from  your  mind  and  go  on  to  fresh  conquests — which  I  feel 
sure  you  have  before  you  in  the  good  work  Lucy  told  me  you  are 
doing  at  Cirenhampton — and  I  should  so  like  to  have  seen  those 
water-colour  sketches  he  spoke  of,  also  the  palaeoliths. 

"With  the  certificates  you  hold,  and  the  fact  of  your  remarkable 
work  in  those  barren  strata  (known,  I  find,  to  far  more  of  us  than 
you  imagine),  you  are  quite  eligible  to  become  a  Fellow  of  the  G.I., 
and  it  will  give  me  great  pleasure  to  propose  you  myself,  and  I  will 
find  a  good  seconder;  and  you  can  then  read  your  own  papers. 

"Meanwhile,  I  shall  be  glad  to  help  you  in  every  way,  and  I  can, 
I  think,  obtain  for  you  the  temporary  use  of  the  library.  You  should 
give  every  reference  to  previous  authors  who  touch  on  Cirenhampton 
geology,  and,  also,  you  must  quote  verse  and  chapter  from  all  au- 
thorities whom  you  mention.  The  matter  put  forward  must  be  new, 
it  must  be  genuine  research,  and  the  English  should  be  good;  other- 
wise work  is  not  passed  by  the  referees.  In  many  ways  I  can  help 
you;  for  example,  by  reading  your  proofs.  I  strongly  adrise  you 
to  obtain  and  study  Meiklejohn's  little  book  on  English.' 

"But  should  you  prefer  to  keep  all  to  yourself  until  you  have 
finished  your  paper,  why,  then,  so  let  it  be:  and  I  shall  see  and 
appreciate  your  work  in  good  time :  and  you  will  come  to  know  me. 

"I  would  very  much  like  to  borrow  the  remarkable  book  of  Terse 
by  Stoddart  that  you  showed  me;  I  find  it,  as  I  feared,  quite  out  of 
print,  but  my  daughter  has  offered  to  copy  it  all  out  for  ma  My 

169 


170  THE   BORN   FOOL 

memory  is  still  so  good,  and  I  was  so  impressed,  that  I  was  able  to 
quote  to  her  the  whole  of  the  first  poem. 

"Believe  me,  dear  Mr.  Clinton, 

"Yours  sincerely, 

"T.  A.  RALLY." 

Clinton  wrote  a  warm  letter  in  reply,  gratefully  accepting 
the  proffered  help. 

Fellowship  of  the  Geological  Institute  would  cost  him 
seven  guineas.  At  present  he  could  not  afford  this.  He  had 
just  spent  nearly  that  sum  upon  evening  dress.  His  old  suit 
had  once  belonged  to  Ted,  and  was  become  out  of  date  and 
worn.  He  therefore  wrote  that  he  would  prefer  to  wait  a 
few  months,  and  if  by  that  time  he  had  finished  the  Ciren- 
hampton  monograph,  it  would  be  a  good  help  towards  election. 

When  Rally  next  came  down,  he  and  Kirk  and  Mr.  Lucy 
spent  the  whole  afternoon  from  two  until  six-thirty  in  delight- 
ful investigation,  theory,  and  discussion.  Upon  a  large-scale 
map,  Kirk  showed  the  lines  of  the  curious  submerged  gravel- 
barriers  that  he  had  by  now  partly  traced  out  and  proved. 
He  theorised  that  they  were  old  storm-beaches ;  he  showed  to 
the  Professor  type  specimens  of  battered  flints.  In  the 
lagoons  gradually  formed  behind  these  barriers — suggested 
Kirk — had  been  laid  down  the  freshwater  marls,  peats  and 
clays.  The  Neolithic  men  had  for  protection  built  and  lived 
on  rude  timber  crannogs  in  the  shallow  waters.  Carcasses  of 
many  kinds  of  deer  and  of  an  extinct  horse  now  and  then 
had  been  brought  down  by  floods  into  the  lagoon,  and  there 
had  sunk  their  bones,  and  thus  one  found  bones  of  land  ani- 
mals in  this  fresh-water  marl.  At  times,  the  sea  would 
break  in,  a  barrier  be  breached,  and  thus  one  had  an  explana- 
tion of  certain  curious  "washouts,"  and  those  puzzling  local 
mixtures  of  sequence.  Also,  what  of  the  effects  of  stranded 
ice,  or  of  river  ice  ?  The  Neolithic  fauna  certainly  showed  a 
cold  climate.  Archaeological  questions  also  arose,  and  Lucy 
frequently  took  his  turn  in  the  conversation. 


THE    BORN    FOOL  171 

At  twenty  to  seven  Mrs.  Lucy  followed  by  Beatrice  came 
into  the  study. 

"Mr.  Clinton!  We've  come  to  your  rescue!  Of  course 
you  three  old  dreamers  never  heard  the  first  bell  ?  It's  now 
nearly  seven !" 

"Ah !  Mrs.  Lucy !"  laughed  Kirk,  "and  it  was  so  simple  to 
bring  us,  you  had  but  to  strike  one  chord,  and  she  to  draw  her 
bow  twice — and  we  would  have  come  to  you !" 

"Oh !  Flatterer ! !  this  is  Mr.  Clinton  in  a  new  light — 
Oh ! !  and  what  is  this  horrible  black  mess  in  my  lovely 
Worcester  ?" 

"That,  dear  lady,"  laughed  Rally — taking  up  the  bowl — 
"is  a  little  pure  washed  peat,  quite  clean  and  harmless,  and 
let  me  tell  you  it  contains  no  less  than  fourteen  coldly-tem- 
perate flora  of  Neolithic  times." 

"Aren't  they  ogres,  dear  ?  Devoting  themselves  to  all  these 
poor  old  ugly  dead  things  ?  I  call  it  simply  living  in  the  past ! 
Morbid !  I  haven't  forgotten  Professor  What's-his-name,  the 
Egypt  man,  he's  grown  just  like  a  mummy,  exactly  like  one 
of  those  graven  images,  and  your  father,  dear,  I  declare  al- 
ready looks  most  Gothic!  The  Professor  is  the  Old  Astrol- 
oger and  Mr.  Clinton  is  going  to  be  a  sort  of  dreamy  scientific 
Galahad !" 

"And  what  better!  what  better  could  he  be,  Madame?" 
said  Rally,  darting  at  her  a  bright  merry  glance  from  beneath 
his  shaggy  brows. 

"What  better?  Why,  a  young  human  being,  of  course, 
living  for  men  and  things !" 

"And  women?"  interjected  Lucy,  laughing. 

"And  women!"  cried  his  wife,  curtseying  disdainfully. 
"What  is  there  better  ?" 

"Young  women !"  declared  old  Rally,  laughing  at  Beatrice. 

"Dad,  darling,"  said  she,  releasing  herself  from  her 
father's  arm.  "You  three  boys  are  to  go  and  dress,  at  once. 
Come  along,  mother." 

Kirk  began  to  collect  the  maps  and  papers.     Lucy  was 


172  THE    BOKN    FOOL 

replacing  books  of  reference.  It  flashed  through  Sally's 
mind  as  an  unimportant  thought  while  he  tenderly  handled 
precious  flints  that  Kirk  and  Beatrice  might  make  a  match 
of  it.  ...  "But  in  about  five  years,  when  he's  thirty."  H« 
thought  of  Kirk's  election,  and  asked  him, 

"And  how  old  are  you,  Clinton?" 

"Nearly  twenty-one." 

"Not  twenty-one  ?  dear  me !  Lucy !  he's  not  twenty-one !" 
Then  continuing  later  in  a  low  voice,  he  had  said  aside  to 
Kirk,  "Look  after  all  that  our  friend  finds ;  record  and  label 
all,  in  your  clear  handwriting;  he  is  so  learned,  but  he  has 
no  marked  gift  of  order,  you  see." 

But  the  strong  internal  desires  in  Kirk — for  just  law,  for 
harmony,  for  permanence  and  fixity,  for  ideals-^— set  a  limit  to 
experience,  made  him  over-rebellious  of  seeming  injustice, 
and  were  to  be  a  cause  of  sorrow. 

Sometimes  fell  a  distant  shadow  in  his  bright  sky ;  a  sud- 
den feeling  of  irreparable  grief,  when,  in  moments  of  reverie, 
he  realised  the  eternal  decay  of  all  beauty,  the  death  of 
flowers,  the  inevitable  separation  for  ever  of  all  who  love, 
of  lovers;  and  especially  at  such  times  was  he  grieved  and 
deeply  moved  by  the  virginal  form  and  being,  the  beauty  so 
exquisite,  fresh  and  tender,  of  young  girls.  All  that  highest 
individual  loveliness,  irretrievably  passed  away,  changed  to 
'something  else,  and  for  ever  died. 

It  was  to  some  extent  the  alleviation  of  these  feelings  that 
gave  him  interest  in  a  curious  book  he  bought  at  second-hand 
— "The  Science  of  Finite  and  Infinite  Life."  At  that  time 
but  few  in  England  were  conversant  with  theories  of  re-incar- 
nation. Kirk  saw  how  heavenly  an  explanation  of  mysteries 
that  might  be,  if  it  were  true ;  if  it  were  but  true  .  .  . 

He  saw  his  dear  flowers  come  up  year  by  year  but  they 
were  not  those  of  the  last  year.  The  flowers  were  only 
racially  eternal,  and  even  racially,  century  by  century,  they 
changed  and  changed  for  ever.  It  seemed  so  clearly  similar 


THE    BORN    FOOL  173 

with  mankind.  The  individual  in  all  things  living,  the  only, 
the  dear,  the  specially  desired  loved-one,  perished.  This  deep 
irreparable  grief  underlay  ideal  human  love ;  because  it  was 
so  fleeting,  so  finite,  so  sad,  yet  so  great. 

Knowing  little  or  nought  of  woman,  unconscious  of  mutual 
sex-attraction,  he  viewed  that  great  mystery  in  a  manner 
both  much  older  and  much  younger  than  his  years.  To  him, 
all  that  should  take  place  between  man  and  woman  lay  either 
in  a  pure  mental-spiritual  friendship,  or  in  perfect  wedlock. 
Every  other  relation  between  a  man  and  girl  was  palpably 
futile,  wasteful,  despicably  dilettante,  or  deeply  evil  and 
cruel  to  the  girl. 

Kirk  was  hard-worked  but  so  active  both  of  mind  and 
body  that  he  found  time  for  much  beside  his  daily  work.  He 
had  long  nursed  an  idea  that  some  day,  by  some  means,  no 
longer  would  he  be  an  engineer.  Some  day,  he  would  be 
either  a  geologist,  or  a  man  of  letters.  But  he  had  not  com- 
menced to  work  with  fixity  and  definite  foresight  towards 
his  purpose.  Instead,  he  was  drawn  irresistibly  by  his  youth 
into  the  minglings  of  sport,  pure  science,  poetry,  writings, 
beauty  and  nature  worship,  that  encompassed  and  allured 
him.  He  was  but  twenty  and  the  next  five  years — that  long 
bright  vista — would  give  time  enough  and  plenty  for  him  to 
pass  examinations  and  obtain  diplomas.  Besides,  civil  engi- 
neering came  so  easy  to  himself,  it  was  mere  child's  play! 
thought  he,  and  he  could  win  diplomas  when  he  liked.  His 
firm  and  easy  grip  of  Cirenhampton  engineering  work,  his 
obvious  success,  gave  him  confidence  and  a  quiet  enjoyment 
of  his  young  manhood  and  command.  He  enjoyed  greatly 
his  new  found  liberty  and  independence,  after  the  long  sub- 
jection to  his  father.  The  present  was  entrancing,  full,  vivi- 
fying. He  was  living  in  this  southern  beauteous  and  ro- 
mantic countryside ;  such  wonderful  geology  and  pre-histology 
absorbed  him.  Daily  unfettered  converse  with  the  finest 
books  enlarged  his  mind,  and  he  felt  a  noble  pride  of  intellect, 


174  THE    BORN    FOOL 

the  joy-in-growth  of  a  strong  sapling  in  the  Spring.  Nature, 
ever  new  and  radiant,  brought  him  ever  fresh  and  lovelier 
thought,  a  deeper  ecstasy ;  he  seemed  to  know  and  share  even 
the  passionate  emotions  of  aspiring  flowers. 

Except  at  times  with  the  Lucys,  Kirk  no  longer  went  to 
Church.  The  ceremonial  and  the  words  seemed  to  him 
strange  and  ever  more  strange.  In  congregations  he  felt  he 
was  alone.  He  was  hut  the  foreign  looker-on  at  devotions 
in  which  he  no  longer  had  part  or  place. 

When  by  power  of  imagination  he  passed  easily  into  dis- 
tant space,  and  from  there  consciously  looked  down  upon  the 
earth — one  side  all  in  golden  light — a  great  ball  revolving 
through  the  black  invisible  on  her  eternal  journey — then 
somewhere  on  that  ball,  knew  he,  was  the  speck  in  which  his 
own  body  existed  at  that  moment;  and  in  that  church — 
that  speck  of  artificial  shelter — were  the  tiny  human  beings, 
engaged  in  those  most  curious,  sad,  very  extraordinary,  and 
minute  complexities  of  their  microscopic  lives.  "They  live  in 
a  profound  dream,"  thought  he — "a  close,  rapt  dream ;  an  an- 
cient, beautiful,  but  tiny  consciousness;  one  that  extended 
never  beyond  the  outer  clinging  film  of  planetary  air,  and 
rarely  to  that!" 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THEN  at  times  powerfully  occupying  Kirk  there  were 
those  lowlier  enjoyments,  those  that  satisfied  the  tre- 
mendous instinct  for  the  chase.  That  satisfied  that  desire  po- 
tential, often  long-buried,  yet  living  on,  and  very  present  to- 
day, strong  in  flesh,  bone,  and  brain,  of  almost  every  dog 
and  man,  from  times  remote,  from  countless  vanished  genera- 
tions of  the  pre-historic,  to  the  living  day. 

Kirk  in  boyhood  had  seen  a  stout  rheumatic  labourer  at 
sight  of  bent  rod  and  vicious  plunge  throw  down  his  axe  and 
run,  clamber  and  fall  over  a  stiff  fence,  pick  himself  up  and 
run  again  panting  like  a  dog, — for  what  ?  To  see  the  chase ! 
be  in  it!  handle  the  net!  be  in  at  the  death! — of  something 
the  size  of  a  mackerel !  living  in  a  little  lake ! 

For  hundreds  of  thousands  of  years  the  forebears  of  the 
present  human  race  lived  by  hunting,  fishing,  killing,  en- 
snaring in  the  wilds.  The  skill  instinctive,  the  desire,  lived 
on  in  Kirk,  as  in  most. 

Tr outing  was  held  in  high  honour  by  all  native  folk  at 
Cirenhampton.  There  the  Piscatorial  Society  had  waters. 
A  single  mile  of  fishing  often  let  for  three  hundred  a  year. 
The  Cirenhampton  Club,  first  embodied  in  the  times  of 
Izaak  Walton,  possessed  old-time  privileges.  The  modern 
members  were  land-owners,  farmers,  and  well-to-do  merchants 
and  townsmen  of  Cirenhampton.  Lord  Laymead  was  Presi- 
dent. Mr.  Bumper,  the  fat  and  jovial  miller,  with  whom 
Kirk  dealt  amicably  when  river  crossings  were  in  hand,  was 
Vice-President  of  the  Club.  Mr.  Bumper  it  was  who  intro- 
duced Kirk.  Despite  his  floury  work-a-day  clothes,  he  was 
a  fairly  educated  man  and  brother  to  Bumper  M.I.C.E., 

175 


176  THE   BORN   FOOL 

F.R.S.,  the  eminent  mathematician,  now  Professor  in  a  well- 
known  chair. 

"Fred  has  all  the  trains  but  I've  got  all  the  money ! — He ! 
He!  He!  He!"  laughed  Mr.  Bumper,  digging  Kirk  in  the 
ribs.  He  had  the  merits  of  a  good  citizen,  he  ran  the  water 
down  well  in  advance  for  each  operation,  charged  a  very  low 
compensation  for  each  stoppage  of  his  flour  mill,  had  for 
nothing  lent  Kirk  a  barge,  and  did  all  he  could  to  help  for- 
ward the  public  work  of  his  own  town.  Standing  above  his 
great  weir  he  one  day  asked  Kirk  if  he  were  not  a  fisher- 
man, and  told  him  tales  of  mighty  trout.  He  took  Kirk  that 
evening  to  the  Club. 

This  for  a  century  had  been  housed  in  a  large  and  quaint 
old  timber-ceiled  room,  part  of  an  historic  inn.  The  low 
leaded  windows  were  continuous  all  along  one  side,  and  looked 
out  upon  a  garden.  At  one  end  of  the  room  was  a  little  bar. 
Upon  a  massive  side-table  stood  a  pair  of  antique  scales ;  one 
side  bore  the  weights,  the  other  held  a  long,  curious,  and 
polished  copper  pan.  Beside  these  lay  a  worn  book  of  records. 
Inside  the  cavernous  fireplace  stood  a  big  bouquet  of  wild 
flowers.  The  large  and  easy  chairs  and  half  a  dozen  little 
three-legged  tables  all  looked  as  though  in  daily  use.  The 
monster  trout,  perch,  grayling,  and  pike  that  filled  the  many 
cases  on  the  walls,  the  library  of  sporting  books,  the  entry 
of  a  youngish  member  with  a  creel  of  trout,  the  lowness  of 
subscription  for  temporary  members — all  decided  Kirk ;  and 
he  was  that  evening  made  an  associate.  The  Club,  Kirk  soon 
found,  was  rather  like  that  of  the  Tarascon  Alpinists. 

Upon  the  next  Whit-Monday,  his  old  rod  in  hand,  weather- 
beaten  basket  on  back,  Kirk  walked  beside  the  fine  but  very 
difficult  piece  of  club  water.  The  deep  and  narrow  chalk- 
river  here  wound  and  swirled  along  at  a  speed  quite  unsus- 
pected, for  the  valley  sides  were  far  apart,  and  miles  of  flat 
fen-land  lay  between  them.  Acres  of  reddish  tufted  reeds, 
immense  withy-beds,  miles  of  rushes  that  concealed  old  water- 
dykes  and  carriers,  made  the  valley  almost  pathless.  Often 


THE   BOKN   FOOL  177 

one  came  on  openings  of  vivid  green,  where  the  rich  and 
starry  moss  spread  smoothly  and  invitingly  above  dangerous 
semi-liquid  peat.  The  river  banks  were  treacherous,  very 
low,  soft  and  much  caved ;  they  came  up  vertically  out  of  deep 
water.  Great  twenty-yard  tresses  of  clear-water  weeds  every- 
where swung  gracefully  and  often  swiftly,  and  left  but  few 
spaces  where  one  might  cast  a  fly,  or  bring  safely  to  bank  a 
heavy  trout.  The  fish  ran  very  large,  and,  under  club-rules, 
trout  of  less  than  one-and-a-quarter  pounds  if  taken  were  to 
be  returned.  Only  normal  flies  were  permitted.  The  "Alex- 
andra," the  spinning-bait,  the  worm,  were  debarred  abso- 
lutely, and  to  use  them  would  forfeit  membership.  The  rules 
were  truly  sporting,  the  water  strictly  cared-for.  Presently 
Kirk  saw  advancing  leisurely  a  large  party  of  the  club-men, 
each  in  Harris  tweed,  each  armed,  belted,  strapped  across 
and  hung  about  with  quantities  of  kit.  A  dozen  shiny  rods 
wagged  overhead.  All  caps  and  hats  were  rough  and  fuzzy 
with  the  multitude  of  artificial  flies  stuck  in  them. 

These  fishers  sounded  very  merry.  The  water-bailiff  with 
an  assistant  brought  up  the  rear,  carrying  between  them  a 
most  monstrous  hamper.  The  Vice-President,  shaking  with 
laughter,  led  the  procession. 

"Well,  Mr.  Bumper !"  laughed  Kirk,  caught  by  the  mirth, 
"You  do  all  look  the  part !  Had  any  luck  ?" 

"Rather!  !  Young  Brown's  hooked  his  own  dog !  !  he !  he ! 
took  him  in  his  bit  of  tail !  just  seen  'em  right  out  o'  sight ! 
he !  he !  he !  ha !  ha !  ha-ha  !  !  dog  yelling !  Brown  going  like  a 
four-year-old!  Tom's  bull-dog  after  him!  View  hallo!  God 
bless  me !  .  .  .  God  bless  me !  .  .  .  nearly  killed  us  all !  I 
shall  put  it  in  the  minutes  of  the  Club,  he !  he !  he !  he !  he ! 
God  bless  my  soul !  Well !  well !  .  .  .  Gentlemen !  if  the  fish 
won't  feed,  we  will,  Mr.  Clinton !  not  a  soul's  killed  a  fish ! 
He!  he!  he!  he!  scooting  dog  yelling,  Brown  yelling,  and 
jumping  bull-dog  jumping  at  his  jumping  bag !  Stuff  falling 
off  him,  bully  shakes  'em  and  off  again  for  Brown !  He !  he ! 
joke  of  a  lifetime !" 


178  THE    BDKN    FOOL 

It  was  but  eleven-thirty,  but  they  had  the  basket  set  down 
then  and  there.  They  insisted  on  "our  young  new  member," 
"the  destroyer  of  our  peaceable  roads  and  countryside,"  like- 
wise sitting  down  amid  the  quick  pop  of  corks,  the  gurgling 
of  abundant  bottles,  the  clatter  of  the  knives  and  forks  of 
good  trencher  men :  and  when  Kirk,  oddly  accelerated  by  his 
first  champagne,  burst  into  sharp  unexpected  wit  and  joke 
with  Mr.  Bumper,  and  all  laughed  uproariously,  he  felt  a 
novel,  very  warm  sensation  of  humanity  and  unity,  that 
lasted  many  hours.  Luncheon  finished,  they  were  scrupulous 
that  no  unsightly  paper,  cork,  or  smallest  remnant  remained 
to  sully  the  flowery  margin  of  the  pure  river.  "In  vino 
veritas"  laughed  the  big  and  Jupiterian  man,  as  all  said  fare- 
well to  Kirk.  "Blest  if  I  didn't  think  him  the  gravest  boy 
I'd  ever  met !  But  not  now  !  not  now  !" 

For  three  evenings  Kirk  was  unsuccessful.  He  hooked  and 
lost  two  fish.  Plain  it  was  there  was  much  to  learn,  before 
one  could  take  these  cunning  fellows  from  their  intricate 
jungles  in  the  eddying  convolving  water.  For  the  stream  was 
shadowed  in  the  deeps,  and  slowly  traversed  back  and  forth, 
by  incredible  lengths  of  living  floating  weed — deep  rooted, 
and  combed  from  root  to  tip  by  deep  and  fast  current.  Even 
one  dropper  and  the  tail-fly  was,  Kirk  found,  too  risky,  and 
next  he  used  but  a  single  fly.  He  lurked  stealthily,  watched 
the  dim  shapes  of  big  trout,  drew  conclusions,  and  made  ex- 
periments. On  two  calm  evenings  from  behind  a  little  bush 
he  knelt  and  cast  his  very  gentlest  right  to  the  further  side, 
above  a  fine  fellow  who  inhabited  beneath  an  old  hawthorn. 
Rise  after  rise  could  Kirk  see,  just  a  foot  below  a  rich  tress 
of  May-blossom  that  nearly  swept  the  water.  He  quietly 
moved  away,  changed  his  fly,  came  back  later,  and  tried  again. 
He  came  a  third  evening :  the  first  tinge  of  brown  was  on  the 
May-blossom,  a  wind  slight  and  warm  rippled  the  surface 
now  and  then  against  the  stream.  Kirk  put  on  a  large  moth, 
held  his  rod  far  back  and  crept  behind  the  little  bush.  The 
filmy  gut  floated  out  and  straightened  perfectly,  his  moth 


THE   BORN   FOOL  179 

alighted  like  the  living  thing,  and  by  the  swift  current  was 
swept  beneath  the  bough.  The  fish  rose,  Kirk  struck,  the 
moth  whirled  back.  "Too  soon !  too  soon !"  thought  Kirk,  his 
heart  beating.  He  waited  a  full  minute;  then  cast  again 
perfect  as  before — but  just  within  a  moment's  lull  of  wind — 
and  the  moth  alighted  on  the  bough  and  stopped  there.  With 
raised  rod  to  free  the  fly,  Kirk  sent  a  coiling  undulation, 
down  dropped  the  moth — Whallop !  !  !  fast  in  a  good  'un !  ! 
Down-stream,  down-stream  Kirk  forced  the  fish !  Each  time 
he  bolted  up  Kirk  bolted  faster  on  the  very  edge.  The  pull 
upstream  reversed  the  fish — made  him  dash  down  stream — 
thus  he  rushed  and  slid  safely  through  the  long  open  fingers 
of  the  swaying  weed  until  far  below  the  rise,  and  come  to 
freer  water.  There  he  leaped  twice,  came  up,  turned  a 
gleaming  flank,  bored  deeply  at  Kirk's  very  feet,  dashed  out 
again,  made  a  half  leap,  then  suddenly  gave  up  the  fight, 
Trembling  with  delight,  Kirk  immersed  the  landing-net, 
stood  motionless,  and,  ready  for  a  sudden  plunge,  he  quietly 
drew  the  heavy  fish  to  bank,  adroitly  raised  the  net,  and  next 
moment  gazed  admiringly  upon  the  bright  red  spots,  the 
rich  bronze  and  silver  of  a  splendid  fish,  a  full  two-and-a-half 
pounder. 

Having  learnt  his  water,  Kirk  seldom  went  fishing  but  he 
brought  back  a  big  trout  or  two.  One  he  gave  to  Bill,  one  to 
Charlie,  some  to  the  Lucys.  They  were  good  to  eat  as  sal- 
mon; pink,  flaky,  and  delicious.  Kirk  took  his  largest  fish 
by  means  of  a  "moth"  that  never  was  on  land  or  sea. 

"I  will  try  something  absolutely  out  of  the  ordinary," 
laughed  he  to  himself  one  wet  evening,  and  he  dressed  a 
medium  hook  on  fairly  strong  gut,  with  a  whole  handful  of 
white  hen  feathers.  From  a  good  knot  full  three  inches 
above  the  hook,  he  worked  downwards,  and  formed  the  mon- 
ster wings  and  hackles,  laid  a  wondrous  triple  tail,  and, 
using  half  a  ball  of  soft  white  darning-wool,  he  wound  on  a 
flexible  body  like  a  little  bolster.  Just  where  the  tail  forked 
from  this  body,  there  was  the  wicked  little  hook ! 


180  THE   BORN   FOOL 

Kirk  held  up  the  finished  apparition.  He  thought  of  his 
father's  classic  notions,  and  chuckled.  "Well!  they  can't 
miss  this  at  dusk:  and  for  pike,  the  bigger  the  bait  the  big- 
ger the  fish!  Bickerdyke  and  Jardine  proved  that.  And 
why  not  likewise  for  trout  ?" 

The  next  evening  when  dusk  came  down,  he  put  on  a 
well-stained  cast  of  salmon-gut,  he  looped  on  the  new  idea, 
and  waved  his  long  rod.  Instantly  two  big  bats  pounced  and 
whirled  about  him  following  the  apparition  till  it  took  the 
black  water.  Away  it  swept,  down,  across,  then  again  Kirk 
put  it  in  the  air  and  down  shot  the  bats !  Again  the  monster 
moth  whirled  away  and  then  alighted.  Kirk  could  see  it 
carried  down  stream  to  the  limit  of  the  line.  As  he  drew  it 
quickly  up  stream  towards  himself  came  a  ferocious  rush  he 
was  unprepared  for.  "It's  a  beastly  pike !"  ejaculated  he — 
and  out  again  sailed  the  lump  of  wool  and  feather,  and 
daintily  alighted.  Instantly  a  great  rush — half  a  second 
pause — and  whew!  !  !  the  tip  of  the  tall  rod  wrenched  to 
the  very  water !  Kirk  instantly  recovered.  Fifteen  minutes 
later,  and  three  hundred  yards  down  stream,  he  safely  grassed 
a  big  trout. 

Too  large  was  this  fish  for  his  old  creel,  so  Kirk  spread 
some  dewy  grass  and  flowers  in  a  serviette  that  had  contained 
some  cake,  and  knotting  it,  carried  the  fish  straightway  to 
the  Club.  There  he  found  Mr.  Bumper  and  half  a  dozen 
members. 

"By  Jove !  A  very  large  fish !  indeed !  a  grand  fish !  and  in 
perfect  condition,"  said  Mr.  Bumper,  as  he  laid  it  cere- 
moniously in  the  scales — all  crowding  round  him.  "Four 
pounds  and  five  ounces,  no  less!"  .  .  .  "Nineteen  inches 
from  eye  to  fork !  .  .  .  fourteen  inches  girth  .  .  .  the  larg- 
est of  the  season ;  a  great  fish,  Mr.  Clinton ;  what  fly  did  you 
kill  him  on?" 

"Here  it  is,"  said  Kirk  modestly  producing  it — and  forth- 
with sent  Mr.  Bumper  and  his  friends  into  fits  of  laughter. 

"Caught  it  with  a  live  chicken !  he !  he !  he !     That's  what 


THE   BORN   FOOL  181 

he's  done,  gentlemen!  he!  he!  he!  Dragged  for  it,  with 
half  a  hen !  God  bless  my  soul,  these  engineers !  Just  like 
my  brother!  found  him  on  our  water  with  a  damned  thing 
he  wound  up !  he !  he !  he !  Have  to  pass  a  new  rule !  No 
member  shall  use  sparrows,  cocks  and  hens,  clock-springs, 
bantams !  he !  he !  he !  .  .  .  Well,  Mr.  Clinton,  you've  taught 
us  something  new,  you  have.  What  the  devil  do  you  call  it  ? 
'The  Flying  Hen'  ?  he !  he !  he !  ha !  ha-ha ! !" 

Kirk  wished  to  preserve  this  fish,  and,  late  as  it  was,  he 
took  it  to  the  local  man.  The  taxidermist  told  him  he  could 
not  set  up  so  large  a  fish  for  less  than  about  forty  shillings. 
That  would  be  the  lowest  price — say,  two  pounds-ten  with 
the  case.  This  was  more  than  Kirk  cared  to  spend.  Be- 
sides, he  had  thought  of  sending  the  fish  to  Mrs.  Athorpe, 
and  he  now  decided  he  would  do  so. 

Very  few  members  fished  habitually,  and  when  they  did 
they  preferred  the  forenoon.  On  Sundays  fishing  was  not 
permitted;  it  was  a  day  of  peace  for  trout  and  man.  So 
Kirk  seldom  met  a  brother  sportsman,  for  his  leisure  was  at 
evening. 

The  swarming  bird-life,  the  myriad  flowers,  the  coming 
sunset,  the  sweet  solitude,  often  bade  Kirk  lay  aside  his  rod, 
to  sit  and  dream,  undisturbed  and  isolated,  surrounded  by 
the  beauty  and  the  labyrinth  of  fen  and  of  golden  quashy 
water-mead,  by  acres  and  acres  of  trackless  reed  and  flag 
and  iris,  by  distant  spaces  pink  with  ragged  robin,  yellow 
with  the  water-ragwort,  blue  with  mallow  and  forget-me-not. 

The  net  of  stream  and  ditch  and  dyke  was  pink  with 
tall  willow  herb,  purple  with  loosestrife,  creamy  with 
meadow-sweet,  mauve  with  tall  wild  mints.  Underfoot,  the 
luscious  yellow  money-wort  everywhere  spread  tresses.  Filmy- 
winged  dragon-flies  hovered  in  scented  air  along  the  deep  hid- 
den paths,  or  clung,  rapt,  to  the  green  sedgy  blades.  In  May 
the  hawthorn  edged  the  marshlands  with  distant  walls  of 
blossom;  and  June  saw  a  darker  line — the  elder-trees  in 


182  THE   BOKN   FOOL 

dark  leaf  thickly  barred  with  level  creamy  flower.  Beyond 
these  rose  the  hanging  woods,  the  distant  curving  downs. 

Here — in  summer — beside  the  river,  while  the  sun  still 
pours  his  rays,  ever  more  mellow,  more  level,  and  more 
golden — the  air  each  evening  fills  with  sound — the  cease- 
less liquid  twittering  of  swallows,  passing  and  re-passing, 
the  scream  of  the  black  swift,  mad  with  joy  and  speed,  swoop- 
ing to  his  darting  love — the  snipe,  coursing  by  himself — sud- 
denly careers  obliquely  downwards,  humming  uncannily, 
then  re-ascends.  His  mate  oddly  bleating  sits  on  the  rotten 
hatch  and  watches  him.  From  every  side  one  hears  the 
sharp  "bik!  bik!  bik!"  of  coots,  the  "croog!"  of  water-hens, 
the  rapid  rising  pip !  pip !  pip !  pip !  pip ! !  of  the  shy  grebes ; 
and  close  at  hand  the  restless  sedge  warbler  chatters,  stops 
and  chatters,  all  the  time. 

But  sound  decreases  with  the  fading  light ;  bird  after  bird 
goes  to  rest.  With  dusk  comes  a  great  stillness;  and  then 
from  some  fastness  of  the  marshes,  rises  at  last  a  single  un- 
remitting sound;  monotonous,  lonely,  endless; — it  is  the 
weird  nocturne  of  that  rarest  bird,  the  grasshopper  warbler. 
His  song  is  not  of  joy,  nor  sorrow,  and  is  inarticulate  and 
yet  as  meaningful  as  those  sounds  that  rise  at  night  from 
distant  falling  water — when  all  else  is  still — and  one  senses 
the  murmur  that  rises  ever  fainter  and  fainter  from  oblivion 
and  the  past. 

Kirk,  in  darkness,  came  homeward  along  the  river-side 
from  one  of  these  reveries,  with  basket  on  back  and  rod  held 
gunwise  beneath  his  arm — and  in  his  free  hand  he  carried  a 
bouquet  of  wild  flowers.  His  mind  was  peaceful  and  har- 
monious as  the  silent  rich  trees.  His  eyes,  full  of  far-away 
imaginings,  were  fixed  on  Venus,  who  shone,  ethereally  pure 
and  steadfast,  in  the  darkening  west. 

"Clinton!" 

Kirk  stopped  and  turned  as  Charlie  issued  from  a  hiding 
place  in  the  hedge  and  came  close  to  him. 


THE    BORN    FOOL  183 

"Flowers,  old  chap!  who  the  dooce  are  you  after?"  and 
Charlie  laughed. 

"No  one/'  said  Kirk,  good-humouredly. 

"Why!  then  you  just  stop  with  me!  just  the  very,  very 
thing!"  cried  he  with  suppressed  gusto — "I've  got  two  girls 
coming  along  directly.  I  thought  it  was  them  coming  when 
I  heard  you — it's  before  time  yet — so  I  hid,  to  jump  out  on 
them ! — Those  Miss  Taylors,  you've  seen  them  ?  Jolly  pretty 
bits !  and  they're  all  right,  naughty  little  things !  Look  here, 
Clinton,  I'll  take  the  eldest  and  you  take  the  youngest.  By 
Jove !  I  don't  believe  you've  ever  had  a  girl  ?" 

Charlie  laughed  and  giggled  softly  to  himself  and  hit  Kirk 
on  the  back — "I'd  love  to  see  you  with  your  first!!  I'll 
never  forget  mine — " 

"Thanks,  Charlie,  I  don't  really  take  the  slightest  interest 
in  'em." 

"Oh !  but  don't  be  such  a  fool,  Clinton."  And  he  button- 
holed Kirk,  who  had  begun  to  move.  "Most  chaps  would 
give  a  fiver  to  be  in  your  place  to-night !  I  tell  you  they  are 
ripping  bits ! — all  the  f un-o'-the-f air — besides,  can't  you  see  ? 
It's  so  darned  awkward  with  two  girls  to  one  fellow — I 
shall  have  no  end  of  trouble  to  separate  them.  Go  a  walk 
with  her,  there's  a  good  chap,  and  tell  me  to-morrow  what 
happened !"  And  Charlie  sniggered  over  the  idea. 

"Thanks,  no,  good  night." 

"Oh,  damn  you !" 

"What?" 

"...  Oh,  go  home  and  get  your  milk,  you  bally  eunuch !" 

"Take  that!"  fiercely  replied  Kirk  as  Charlie  fell  back 
into  the  hedge.  He  reclined  movingly  in  it,  cursing  the 
myriad  thorns,  and  Kirk  went  on.  He  found  he  had  dropped 
the  flowers,  but  he  did  not  go  back.  He  quoted  Sweden- 
borg,  "O  God,  what  penal  blindness  hast  thou  laid  upon  these 
peopla" 

He  looked  for  trouble  from  this  incident,  but  was  sur- 
prised two  days  later  when  Charlie  met  him  with  a  per- 


184  THE    BOEN    FOOL 

fectly  good-humoured  broad  smile  and  laugh,  and  Kirk  also 
smiled. 

"How  dy'ye  do,  Clinton !  I'd  no  call  to  say  that  to  you — 
but  I  was  so  damned  disappointed  at  the  moment.  How- 
ever, my  son,  it  was  all  right.  Miss  Number  One  was  far 
too  fly  for  her  little  sister  and  got  there  first!  and  my!" 
laughed  Charlie,  with  gestures — "Isn't  she  a  giddy  little 
canoodler ! !  We  had  a  lovely  time — " 

Kirk  had  to  listen  to  details. 

.  "So  it  all  turned  out  all  right;  but  my  jaw's  still  sore, 
you  hot-headed  devil  you! — Y'know,  Clinton,  you  didn't 
knock  me  over,  I'm  a  stone  heavier  than  you.  I'd  got  my 
heels  together  in  the  rut — Ha  !  ha !  I  told  her  I'd  got  tooth- 
ache and  she  must  only  kiss  me  on  the  right  side ! !  Oh, 
Maudy  darling!"  laughed  Charlie  catching  Kirk  round  the 
waist  for  a  moment  and  waltzing. 

Who  could  be  vexed  with  Charlie  ?  He  was  so  hot-hearted, 
so  gay,  childishly  frank,  amusingly  vain,  rampant  with 
health!  and  Kirk  laughed  heartily  despite  his  disapproval. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THROUGH  conveying  to  hospital  one  of  his  men,  in- 
jured by  an  accident,  Kirk  met  the  surgeon-in-charge, 
who  glanced  at  the  bandaging  and  asked  with  a  slight  rise 
of  eyebrow — 

"Who  put  this  on?" 

"...  I  did,"  said  Kirk,  feeling  the  rebuke. 

"What!  a  civil  engineer,  and  not  an  ambulance  man?" 

"No." 

"You  ought  to  be,  you  know,"  said  the  surgeon,  as  he  took 
off  the  wrappings. 

"Better  join  my  class,  beginning  next  week,  one  evening  a 
week ;  ten  shillings  the  course." 

Kirk  said  he  would,  and,  later,  he  paid  the  fee.  He 
showed  aptitude,  and  before  the  end  of  the  second  month, 
helped  the  surgeon  with  the  more  backward  members  of 
the  class. 

As  though  purposely  prepared  he  soon  dealt  with  a  seri- 
ous injury.  He  arrived  one  evening  early  in  September  at 
the  small  house  whose  two  front  rooms  he  occupied,  and  he 
found  his  landlady's  neighbours  round  the  doorway.  A  few 
minutes  earlier  she  had  fallen  in  the  garden.  Her  leg  was 
broken.  Going  in  he  saw  Mrs.  Higgins  lying  on  the  couch. 
Her  left  leg  plainly  was  bent  slightly  backwards  from  half- 
way down  the  shin.  Both  bones  obviously  were  broken,  and 
very  plainly  the  leg  was  in  a  shockingly  bad  position,  hanging 
half  off  the  sofa-end,  and  causing  such  extreme  pain  that  no 
one  dared  even  touch  the  sufferer.  Kirk  instructed  two 
women,  who  stood  ready  to  take  Mrs.  Higgins  by  the  arms, 
and  then  Kirk  firmly  and  gently  drew  on  the  heel  the  while 

185 


186  THE    BORN    FOOL 

be  straightened  the  leg.  The  bones  went  into  place,  the 
sharp  cries  of  pain  ceased,  and  Kirk  held  the  limb  rigidly 
in  position  while  the  two  women  drew  the  patient  well  up 
on  the  sofa.  With  cushions  Kirk  now  firmly  propped  up 
the  controlless  foot.  He  sent  a  woman  for  brandy,  bade  the 
patient  keep  absolutely  still,  and,  there  being  no  one  else 
as  speedy  as  himself,  he  rushed  off  for  the  doctor. 

During  the  weeks  that  followed  he  endeared  himself  to 
the  old  lady  by  helping  to  nurse  her.  He  took  turns  fre- 
quently with  the  young  married  daughter,  who  had  come 
on  hearing  of  the  accident.  She  was  a  capable  girl  but 
burdened  with  her  first  baby,  which  was  only  twelve  months 
old.  Kirk  offered  to  go  elsewhere  but  the  daughter  said  they 
could  manage,  and  they  did.  He  entered  into  the  difficul- 
ties of  the  little  household  and  learned  to  scramble  eggs  and 
do  other  useful  operations.  He  even  "took  the  baby"  on 
occasions,  made  good  friends  with  the  wee  girl,  and  learnt 
what  he  called  "the  correct  handholds."  He  brought  the 
pretty  old  lady  flowers  and  delicacies,  and  read  to  her.  She 
was  cheered,  too,  by  the  fact  that  this  accident  had  brought 
about  a  genuine  reconciliation  with  her  married  sons  and 
daughters. 

On  receipt  of  Kirk's  telegram,  her  husband,  Mr.  Higgins, 
left  his  van-full  of  tracts  and  travelled  down  reluctantly 
from  Oxfordshire.  He  had  tea  with  Kirk.  He  was  a  lean, 
yellow,  frog-mouthed  person  in  semi-clerical  attire.  Every 
time  he  opened  his  mouth  to  speak,  a  text  came  unctuously 
out  of  it.  He  ate  surprisingly  and  when  at  last  satisfied  he 
confided,  hoarsely  whispering : — 

"I  left  my  van  and  came  down,  Mr.  Clinton,  because  of 
what  the  neighbours  might  say  if  I  remained  absent;  a 
broken  leg  is  a  broken  leg,  and  we  cannot  scrutinise  the  will 
of  God.  Is  there  any  afflicted  among  you  (Mr.  Higgins's 
voice  became  louder,  and  very  sanctimonious)  let  him  pray, 
James,  five,  thirteen,  again  I  considered  all  travel  and  every 
right  work  that  for  this  a  man  is  envied  of  his  neighbour, 


THE   BOEN   FOOL  187 

Ecclesiastes,  four,  four,  and  them  shalt  visit  thy  habitation 
and  shalt  not  sin,  Joh,  five,  twenty-four — "  and  the  old  man 
stopped  to  take  in  more  wind. 

"Good  Lord!" 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Sir  ?" 

"Nothing,  thank  you,  I  must  go  out  now." 

"I  thought  you  had  only  just  entered  from  your  affairs  of 
business,  Sir?" 

"Well — yes,  but  I  shall  go  for  a  walk  now." — The  old 
man  retained  a  glassy  gaze,  and  before  Kirk  could  escape 
and  close  the  door  was  saying  in  oleaginous  trance-like  sing- 
song— "Ephesians,  five,  thirteen,  see  that  ye  walk  circum- 
spectly not  as  fools  but  as  .  .  ." 

"This  old  Asiatic  wine,"  thought  Kirk,  "swells  these  ugly 
little  modern  bottles  into  no  classic  shape !" 

Kirk  continued  systematically  to  gather  his  geologic  data, 
both  in  Cirenhampton  and  the  neighbourhood.  And  as  he 
collected,  he  wrote.  Not  yet  did  he  believe  the  proper  study 
of  mankind  is  man.  His  Gaelic-Celtic  strain  of  blood  was, 
however,  stirring  more  and  more  within  him. 

"For  acuteness  and  valour  the  Greeks." 

"For  imperious  pride,  the  Romans." 

"For  love  of  beauty  and  amouressness,  the  Gaedhils." 

The  hard  still  records  of  countless  life  gone  to  dust  re* 
volted  his  youth,  and  he  began  to  cast  a  glamour  over  those 
bare  facts.  He  felt  the  very  air  and  saw  the  waves  of  an- 
cient seas;  he  carried  himself  back  to  old  lands,  long  gone 
to  sands  and  silts.  He  seemed  to  feel  the  spirits  of  the  pre- 
historic men  move  about  him  as  he  found  their  old  weapons. 
He  imagined  their  voices  in  the  voices  of  the  waters  rippling 
through  the  flinty  river-strands,  on  which  he  stood  and 
dreamed.  He  accumulated  his  facts  from  the  prehistoric 
gravels  and  the  peaty  graves,  and  inlaid  them  with  a  magic 
of  his  imagination  when  he  wrote  them.  He  could  hear 


188  THE    BORN    FOOL 

the  chipped  flint  tinkle  as  it  fell,  struck  from  the  forming 
weapon;  he  could  hear  the  wild  children  laugh;  and  it  had 
all  gone,  for  ever  ? 

".  .  .  For  not  dubious  or  uncertain , 

Man  then  lived  with  subtle  brain; 
Lived  and  hunted,  loved  and  hated, 

And  o'er  the  world's  domain, 
His  lordship  by  his  soul  alone 

Victorious  did  maintain. 

"In  this  frayed  chip  that  bears  the  mark 

Of  a  primEeval  hand, 
The  newer  man,  with  eyes  to  see 

And  soul  to  understand, 
May  see  and  dimly  reckon  up 

The  stages  sure  and  grand, 
In  the  vast  stretch  of  time  between 

The  ancient  hand  and  mind. 

"And  the  last  touch  of  skill  in  work 

The  last  thought  has  defined, 
In  the  lustrous  strength  of  reason, 
By  the  genius  of  our  kind. 

"For  all  our  work,  our  highest  soul, 

Is  present  in  the  face 
Of  this  old  weapon  thrown  aside 

By  a  half-human  race, 
In  darkest  prehistoric  time, 

And  its  last  resting  place." 

The  old  professor,  full  of  years,  travels,  honours,  was 
often  moved  despite  himself,  while — in  the  first  portion  of 
the  thesis — he  perused  the  written  thougnts  of  Kirk.  But 
resolutely  he  cut  out  all  that  inlaying.  For  the  severely  cold 
atmosphere  of  the  scientific  is  at  enmity  with  all  but  hard 
fact. 

One  chilly  day  in  October  Kirk  entered  the  office  and 
Charlie  gravely  handed  him  a  letter  and  remarked  as  he  did 
so — 


THE    BORN   FOOL  189 

"I've  had  one  from  the  Old  Man  on  the  same  subject, 
worse  luck." 

Kirk  read  the  letter,  gave  it  to  his  colleague,  and  stood 
motionless,  filled  with  sadness,  feeling  himself  exiled.  Char- 
lie read  these  words: — 

"London,  Oct.  15,  19—. 
"DEAR  MB.  CLINTON, 

"Your  work  is  now  drawing  to  a  close  at  Cirenhampton,  and  I 
have  decided  to  place  you  in  charge  of  a  more  important  contract 
in  the  north.  Richard  Brongh,  my  chief  agent  for  the  north  of 
England,  will  instruct  you,  and  advise  you  when  necessary.  Please 
report  yourself  to  him  this  day  fortnight,  at  No.  345  Cross  Street, 
Manchester.  In  the  meantime,  please  see  that  all  is  in  order  on 
your  present  work,  obtain  and  certify  all  accounts  outstanding,  and 
leave  all  as  straight  as  you  can,  before  handing  over  charge  to  my 
nephew. 

"I  am  pleased  with  your  work  and  service  at  Cirenhampton.  You 
have  done  well;  and,  from  date  of  joining  in  the  north,  your  salary 
will  be  ninety  pounds  (£90)  per  annum. 

"Yours  faithfully, 

"JAMES  BENDIGO." 

"I'm  awfully  sorry  you're  going,  Clinton.  ...  I  don't 
really  know  what  Bill  and  me  will  do  without  you — you've 

got  into  things  so  well,  and  now  .  .  .  well ! "  Charlie 

shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"It's  good  of  you,  Charlie,  to  say  so,  but  I  do  feel  it  ... 
this  uprooting." 

"So  do  I,  I'm  damned  if  I  don't !  .  .  .  Never  mind.  .  .  . 
Come  and  have  a  drink!  Come  on,  Clinton,  you're  upset; 
then  we'll  go  and  tell  poor  old  Bill.  It  will  wax  him  up. 
.  .  .  'work  drawing  to  a  close !'  indeed !  that's  just  like  the 
Old  Man,  it's  a  long  way  off  the  close,  and  he  knows  it,  too. 
That's  three  times  he's  left  me  in  a  hole  at  the  end  of  a  job 
.  .  .  and  then  you,  Clinton,  I  must  say  he  might  have  made 
the  figure  higher.  .  .  .  Yes,  you'll  be  with  Brough,  at  first, 
I  suppose.  He's  chief  agent  in  the  north.  He's  very  clever, 
but  he's  got  a  temper.  Won't  have  me  near  him !  The  Old 


190  THE   BOKN    FOOL 

Man's  fond  of  him — thinks  he's  goin'  to  marry  one  of  my 
cousins !  ha !  ha !  but  we  know  Old  Brough,  Jim  and  me  do ! 
He's  fond  of  all  girls,  but  keeps  it  quiet.  Not  like  me !  what  ? 
ha-ha !  But  you'll  like  him,  his  people  are  regular  nobs ;  got 
a  place  down  in  Somerset,  regular  old  county  family,  you 
know;  thinks  no  end  of  himself,  and  he's  an  A.M.I.C.E., 
but  he  does  damned  well  for  the  firm.  I've  thought  for  some 
time  the  Old  Man  would  send  you  to  a  bigger  job." 

Quickly  the  fortnight  passed  away.  On  a  mild  clear  morn- 
ing faintly  sunny  after  rain,  Kirk  said  good-bye  to  his  land- 
lady. She  had  limped  to  the  garden  gate,  and  two  tears  ran 
down  her  old  apple-cheeks.  Kirk  turned  back  a  couple  of 
strides,  leaned  over  the  gate,  put  his  hands  on  her  shoulders, 
and  kissed  her  on  each  cheek,  and  then  again  set  off. 

But  Bill  had  arrived  first  on  the  platform;  and  clasped 
against  his  manly  but  slouching  form  was  a  large  parcel. 
The  queer  shape  lent  some  apology  for  the  hopeless  struggle 
Bill  obviously  had  undergone  with  string  and  wrappings. 
Gingerly  he  set  down  the  package  between  the  chocolate  and 
try-your-weight  machines.  He  grunted  with  relief  as  he  freed 
himself  of  this  incumbrance.  Soon  afterwards,  Kirk  was  in 
the  carriage  and  leaned  from  the  window,  his  hand  firmly 
gripped : — 

"Good-bye,  Charlie,  you've  been  very  kind  to  me.  Good- 
bye, Bill,  old  friend.  I  hope  we'll  do  more  work  together." 

"Good-bye,  Morster  Clin —  Dem!"  cried  Bill,  forcibly  re- 
versing himself.  "I'd  forgit  thet  bleddy  clock !" 

Darkly  glancing,  stern  with  suppressed  emotion,  Bill 
brought  and  thrust  into  Kirk's  hands  the  enormity  of  card- 
board, insufficient  string  and  paper. 

"F'r  you,  Sir,  from  me  and  my  old-ton-o'-beef.  F'r  win 
you  gits  merried!" 

Bill  and  Charlie  silently  watched  the  tail  of  the  train  di- 
minish and  pass  from  sight. 

Feeling  a  mutual  bereavement,  they  left  the  station,  and 


THE    BORN    FOOL  191 

early  though  the  day  was  they  turned  into  the  nearest  bar. 
Bill  cast  a  morose  downward  glance  at  Charlie,  then  took  up 
the  glass  and  at  one  gulp  swallowed  his  gin.  He  put  the  glass 
down  too  smartly,  with  a  movement  of  irritation,  and  turned 
to  Charlie. 

"Each  time  I  brings  up  a  young  hingineer  .  .  .  learns  'im 
wat  'e  knows,  .  .  .  then  Brough  or  one  o'  them  swell  duds 
womts  'im  .  .  .  must  'ev  'im !" 

"What  ?  Brought  up  Clinton !  Why,  Bill,  my  boy,  he's 
taught  you  a  thing  or  two !  Ha !  ha !  ha !  I  like  that,  Bill ; 
you're  getting  too  blown  up,  dashed  if  you  won't  be  shoving 
M.I.C.E.  after  your  name  next !" 

<fYus,  and  I've  a  right  to" — darkly  said  Bill,  very  delibe- 
rately and  emphatically — "when  I  think  o'  some  of  them  as 
'ev  got  it." 

"Here !  Poor  old  Bill !  cheero !  mop  another !  here  you 
are,  mop  it  off!  dashed  if  I  don't  feel,  wat-the-devil ?  Sad 
or  something  .  .  .  hope  he  won't  go  and  get  caught  by  some 
rotten  fool  of  a  girl  .  .  .  yes,  now  I  think  of  it,  that's  what 
I've  thought  about  him,  Bill.  You  needn't  sneer;  I'd  be 
damned  sorry  to  hear  that  .  .  ." 

"Well,  Morster  Chorlie,  ...  if  you  worze  a  bit  like  'im," 
.  .  .  Stumped  for  analogy,  Bill  moved  his  great  gaunt  body, 
smiled  sardonically,  and  concluded — 

"I  seppose !  .   .   .  you'd  not  be  Morster  Chorlie !  wd-yer  ?" 

About  noon  Kirk  walked  up  from  the  station,  by  himself, 
for  Mary  was  in  London.  Severnly  seemed  most  strange,  yet 
familiar,  and  very  dear  to  him,  and  he  was  filled  with  emo- 
tion. He  made  several  hasty  calls — every  one  seemed  to 
bear  very  kind  feelings  towards  him ;  each  was  so  glad  to 
see  him,  and  to  hear  of  his  success.  At  length  he  approached 
his  own  home. 

He  stood  beneath  the  curved  Georgian  over-porch  and  rang 
the  bell.  The  well-remembered  sound  awoke  in  him  feelings 
from  the  old  life.  He  felt  glad  that  he  was  free. 


192  THE    BORN    FOOL 

The  maid,  astonished,  exclaimed,  "Master  Kirk!"  then 
opened  the  door  wide  and  let  him  in.  She  showed  him  into 
the  drawing-room,  which  was  fireless.  He  remained  standing 
and  his  father  entered. 

"Is  this  you,  Kirkpatrick  ?" 

"Yes,  father." 

Mr.  Clinton  fixed  his  piercing  eyes  on  his  son.  "You  have 
altered  very  much.  Come  into  the  dining-room.  This  room 
is  cold." 

A  large  fire  blazed  there — and  Kirk  remembered  his  fa- 
ther's susceptibility  to  cold,  due  to  residence  in  hot  countries. 

"Sit  down,  Kirkpatrick." 

They  began  to  speak  of  engineering,  and,  warming  a  little, 
Kirk  told  his  father  of  certain  new  methods  used  at  Ciren- 
hampton.  But  the  conversation  soon  flagged — for  Mr.  Clin- 
ton each  time  replied  carelessly, 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know  all  about  that — yes." 

"But  surely,  father,  there  are  new  ideas  and  methods  ?" 

"Not  at  all — I  think  we  did  just  the  same  when  I  was  a 
young  man,  just  the  same,  yes  .  .  .  yes." 

Kirk  mentioned  that  he  was  on  his  way  to  the  North  of 
England — -but  his  father  appeared  not  to  hear  him. 

"What  Church  do  you  go  to  ?" 

"...  Well,  father  ...  I  have  lately  been  to  the  Church 
of  England." 

"You  will  not  succeed  in  your  profession  without  God.  I 
have  heard  rumours  about  you." 

The  son  did  not  reply.    After  a  slight  pause  he  stood  up. 

"Well,  father,  I  must  be  going  now." 

"Why?  Where  are  you  going  to?  When  are  you  going 
on?" 

"At  eight,  to-night." 

"Then  come  and  dine  with  me  at  six-thirty." 

"Thank  you,  father,  but  I  have  already  accepted  Mrs. 
Dugdale's  invitation.  ...  I  met  her  in  the  town." 

"Humph! — you  are  going  there?" 


THE   BOKK   FOOL  193 

"Yes." 

"Well,  you  can  stop  and  lunch  with  me." 

"I'm  so  sorry,  father,  for  I  had  no  idea  ...  I  have  prom- 
ised the  Minnitts  and  I  have  to  go  there  now." 

"Ah,  very  well,"  said  Mr.  Clinton,  resuming  his  ordinary 
manner. 

"Good-bye,  Kirkpatrick;  and  remember,  you  will  not  suc- 
ceed without  God." 

Kirk  took  his  father's  proffered  hand,  then  glanced  round 
once  more  at  all  the  familiar  things  in  the  room — and  depart- 
ed, unconsciously  breathing  freely  when  the  heavy  outer  door 
had  cl<5sed  behind  him. 


CHAPTEE  XXIII 

RICHAKD  BEOUGH— better  known  as  Dick— from 
early  boyhood  desired  to  be  a  farmer,  a  great  farmer. 
His  parents  well  knew  their  son's  wish ;  but  they  ignored  his 
bent.  Dick,  like  his  father  before  him,  went  first  to  Charter- 
house, and  thence  to  Oxford.  When  he  left  school,  he  begged 
hard  that  he  might  go  to  a  college  of  agriculture.  But  the 
father  overruled  the  son,  who  went  with  but  an  ill  grace  to 
Oxford.  The  young  man  predetermined  that  he  would  not 
long  remain  there,  and,  in  his  first  term,  after  increasing  of- 
fences and  deliberate  indiscipline,  he  was  sent  down  for  in- 
geniously removing  and  secreting  the  "doors  of  his  college 
chapel.  The  disappointment  hardened  the  father's  heart. 
He  refused  his  son  permission  to  learn  agriculture.  Dick, 
become  much  bored  at  home,  finally  acquiesced  in  his  own 
articleship  to  the  Chief  Engineer  of  an  English  railway.  The 
agreement  was  signed,  and  Dick  left  home. 

In  the  five  years  that  followed  he  lived  mostly  in  a  large 
northern  city;  and  under  a  very  able  man,  sympathetic,  of 
firm  character,  young  Brough  did  well.  A  strong  liking  grew 
between  himself  and  his  chief.  Farming  began  to  be  forgot- 
ten. His  chief  scrupulously  saw  to  it  that  Brough  was  well 
trained  in  both  theory  and  practice:  andSvhile  nominally  a 
pupil  in  the  office,  Dick,  for  two  years  of  the  five,  studied  in 
the  somewhat  famous  technical  university  of  the  city.  These 
five  years  of  conscientious  effort,  hard  brain-work,  hard  hand- 
work in  the  "Shops,"  the  very  early  hours,  the  bitter  winters, 
the  daily  contact  with  hard  heads,  the  influence  of  a  clever 
finely-bred  man,  the  chief — all  these  had  wrought  together 
well  upon  the  natural  determined  character  of  Brough.  And, 

194 


THE    BOKN    FOOL  195 

through  all,  he  had  preserved  the  courteous  manner  of  his 
youth.  His  accent  had  remained  pure,  and  he  possessed  good 
taste  in  dress. 

Brough  was  now  in  his  thirty-fifth  year.  Moderate  in  stat- 
ure, he  was  yet  well-built.  Habitually  he  bore  a  somewhat 
gaily-aggressive  air  of  capability,  a  calm  alertness,  a  look  of 
cheerful  readiness  for  anything.  His  eyes,  greenish  brown, 
were  shrewd  and  frank;  his  thick  and  brown  close-clipped 
moustache  and  his  ruddy  skin  bespoke  good  health.  His 
shaven  chin  was  strong  and  slightly  pointed.  The  hands  were 
email  but  knotted,  well  cared  for,  and  were  far  too  scientific 
for  a  farmer. 

Brough  mentally  was  penetrative  and  agnostic ;  morally  he 
was  truthful,  frank,  honourable ;  yet  he  was  very  shrewd.  He 
possessed  a  lively  sense  of  humour,  and  his  laugh,  short  and 
quick,  never  failed  him.  He  spoke  habitually  in  a  vein  of 
gentle  irony  and  raillery,  seldom  appearing  to  regard  life  with 
any  seriousness.  He  was  never  damped,  and  he  never  lost  his 
temper.  Antagonists  amused  him.  The  more  serious  and 
angry  a  letter,  the  more  did  Brough  amiably  chuckle. 

Brough  was  much  occupied  when  Clinton  arrived.  After 
a  brief  word  or  two,  Kirk  sat  for  some  time  and  waited.  He 
saw  Brough  was  in  the  middle  of  a  knot  in  some  design ;  and 
soon  he  guessed  Brough  was  impatient  or  dissatisfied.  Kirk 
thought  he  looked  very  tired  about  the  eyes.  After  much  use 
of  india-rubber,  the  elder  man  stood  up  from  the  drawing; 
and,  keeping  his  eyes  upon  the  board,  walked  shortly  to  and 
fro — mentally  absorbed — the  while  he  filled  a  pipe.  He  did 
not  speak,  but  once  more  bent  over  the  work.  More  measur' 
ing,  pencilling  and  rubbing  out  followed,  and  then  Brough 
suddenly  threw  down  his  dividers,  turned  round  on  his  stool, 
laughed  slightly,  and  spoke  to  Kirk. 

"I'm  engineer  to  'Chiltern  Water  Limited.'  Was  before  I 
joined  Bendigo.  Chiltern  held  on  to  my  valuable  services. 
"Not  enough  water  now.  Got  to  sink  another  well.  .  .  . 
L.G.B.  worrying  us  too,  about  a  siphon.  By-the-bye!  Old 


196  THE    BORN    FOOL 

Man  Bendigo  in  long  character-sketch  of  K.  Clinton  told  me 
you're  a  geologist  ?  That's  so,  isn't  it  ?" 

"Oh !  .  .  .  I  know  a  bit,"  said  Kirk,  and  smiled. 

"Then  what  would  be  the  effect  of  a  second  well  ?  Say,  fifty 
feet  from  the  first  ?  You  see  I  could  then  do  without  a  second 
boiler-house — and  of  course  still  further  away  means  buying 
more  land,  in  fact  it  means  another  station.  What  supply 
would  I  get  from  a  second  well,  close  to  the  other  ?" 

"Your  present  well  is  in  chalk  ?" 

"Yes,  all  in  chalk." 

"What  depth  ?" 

"Sixty  feet  of  dug,  and  three  hundred  bored,  eight-inch 
bore." 

"Well,"  said  Kirk,  "in  general,  if  only  fifty  feet  apart, 
you  would  not  get  as  much  from  the  second  as  you  now  draw 
from  the  first.  You  might  secure  only  a  25  per  cent,  increase 
over  your  present  supply,  but  you  might  possibly  get  even  a 
75  per  cent,  increase.  It  depends  chiefly  on  relative  position 
of  the  two  wells,  and  on  the  regional  nature  of  the  chalk." 
Kirk  took  a  sheet  of  paper,  and  made  two  dots  upon  it  a  few 
inches  apart. 

"Suppose  those  are  two  wells.  Pump  them  continuously 
and  each  drains  a  cone  of  chalk  round  itself.  The  point  of 
each  cone  is  the  bottom  of  each  well.  These  two  circles  I  draw 
round  each  dot  are  the  rims  of  the  inverted  cones,  at  surface- 
level  or,  rather,  at  water-level.  You  see  how  they  inter- 
sect each  other  ?  how  they  cut  into  each  other  ?  So  when  the 
cones  of  drainage  intersect,  the  maximum  supply  of  each  well 
is  of  course  definitely  lessened.  Their  drainage  areas  overlap. 
When  the  chalk  is  very  dense  and  rather  impermeable,  these 
wells  can  be  put  closer,  without  one  affecting  the  other.  But 
if  the  chalk  is  open,  loose,  and  thoroughly  permeable,  then 
the  cones  of  drainage  will  be  very  large,  and  two  wells  beside 
each  other  will  drain  practically  from  the  same  cone.  If  your 
Chiltern  well  fills  very  fast  after  long  pumping,  it  indicates 
open  permeable  chalk.  You  see,  there  is  a  good  deal  to  be 


THE    BOKN    FOOL  197 

considered.  In  dense  chalk,  or  the  chalk-marl,  the  first  well 
may  strike  a  fissure ;  the  second  may  miss  it.  Then,  too,  when 
boring,  the  chalk  interstices  sometimes  get  choked  badly  by 
the  debris  from  the  bore  tools,  and  so,  although  in  good  por- 
ous chalk,  your  cone  may  yet  be  rather  narrow,  or  irregular  in 
shape;  but  there's  a  new  remedy  for  this — charges  of  high 
explosive  banged  off  in  the  bore-hole !  they  make  cavities,  and 
thus  increase  the  infiltration-surface.  Of  course,  if  you  dug 
all  your  present  well,  you  would  get  more  water;  and  more 
storage;  and  then,  too,  if  you  liked  you  could  drive  adit- 
tunnels  from  the  bottom ;  but  how  far  down  is  the  Greensand  ? 
That  might  pay  for  a  deeper  boring  in  the  present  well? 
There  is  a  good  deal  to  be  considered,,  isn't  there  ?" 

"...  Where  did  you  pick  all  this  up,  young  fellow  ?"  said 
Brough,  regarding  Kirk  with  much  interest. 

"You  shall  give  me  a  hand  with  my  report  later  on — if  you 
will.  That  was  very  well  put.  Very  sound.  We'll  experi- 
ment. I've  got  all  the  geological  maps  and  sections  here. 
I'll  take  you  down  there !" 

Kirk  smiled  with  pleasure,  but  said  modestly,  "My  father 
is  clever  at  wells,  and  the  rest  is  merely  elementary  geology." 
Brough  looked  at  him,  then  took  a  deep  breath,  jumped  up, 
took  his  pencil,  and  cried — 

"Once  more  into  the  breach,  dear  friends !  Once  more  into 
the  breach !"  He  bent  over  the  drawing  and  remained  silent 
for  but  a  few  moments. 

"I  was  never  much  good  at  design  ..."  murmured  he — • 
"had  no  need  of  it  for  years,  now  .  .  .  forgotten  it !  Come 
and  look  at  this."  .  .  .  "Chamberhead  of  a  big  siphon;  if 
siphon  burst  it  would  wash  a  dear  lil  village  away,  so  Papa 
L.G.B.  says"  .  .  .  "The  idea  is,  in  such  a  case,  to  close  the 
conduit  gradually,  automatically,  infallibly,  see  ?  .  .  .  Well, 
what  do  you  think  of  that  ?" 

Kirk  for  a  full  minute  looked  closely  at  the  drawing. 

"Too  elaborate,"  said  he  very  quietly,  and  then  he  pointed 
out  what  appeared  to  him  defective.  He  stood  up  from  the 


198  THE   BOKN   FOOL 

table,  and  looked  at  the  drawing,  intently  thinking.  Brough 
turned  his  head  and  watched  him  with  great  secret  interest. 
Kirk's  face  lit  up,  he  seized  a  pencil  and  drew  rapidly  on  a 
spare  sheet  and  then  said,  "How  do  you  like  that — the  idea?" 
.  .  .  and  he  explained  his  sketch. 

"It's  a  positive  inspiration,  my  dear  fellow!"  and  then 
Brough  continued  in  a  funny  drawl — "But  you've  been  and 
gone  and  spoilt  the  whole  show !  Now  I  can't  conscientiously 
use  my  own  notion !  and  I'm  over  head  and  ears  with  work ; 
eleven  it  was,  last  night,  before  I  left  this  cube  of  air  in  which 
we  sit." 

"Let  me  do  it,  Mr.  Brough ;  I  can  easily  do  it !  I  love  de- 
sign!" 

"Will  you  ?  Will  you  ?  .  .  .  That  would  be  a  great  help, 
let  me  see :  .  .  .  yes  .  .  .  Bruside  can  well  wait  a  day  or  two 
for  genius  .  .  .  you  have  something  of  that  look  about  you 
.  .  .  Kirkpatrick  .  .  .  You  shall  be  Kirkpatrick  .  .  .  save 
when  I  am  cross  or  grave." 

At  seven  o'clock,  Brough  took  Kirk  from  his  drawing. 

"Come!  amiable,  ingenious,  industrious  Kirkpatrick,  we 
must  feed  these  mighty  intellects,  and  return  ...  I  hope 
you  are  not  tired,  Clinton  ?" 

"Oh  no,  thank  you." 

At  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  they  went  to  Brough's  rooms, 
and,  the  household  being  asleep,  they  put  together  a  camp-bed 
and  Kirk  slept  in  the  same  room  as  Brough. 

Two  days  and  evenings  of  hard  work  followed  in  which  a 
preliminary  report  on  Chiltern  was  drafted.  Next  afternoon, 
they  were  to  go  to  Bruside. 

Brough  wrote  a  cheque  for  five  guineas  and  gave  it  to  Kirk. 
"For  geological  advice,  and  many  thank  you's  for  it,  Kirk- 
patrick." 

"But  I'm  already  paid,  by  Mr.  Bendigo  ?" 

"Not  at  all,  not  at  all,  most  innocent  cock-virgin !  he  don't 
pay  you  enough,  nor  do  I.  This  is  my  own  affair.  Mr.  Ben- 


THE    BORN    FOOL  199 

digo  would  have  no  objection.    Of  course  you  needn't  mention 
it  to  bountiful  beautiful  Charlie." 

So  Kirk  took  the  money  with  great  pleasure.     Generosity 
was  a  trait  he  very  much  admired. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THIS  was  a  crowd  of  people  quite  different  from  any  he 
had  seen.  They  poured  in  and  out  of  the  big  dirty  and 
endless  station.  Kirk,  deeply  absorbed,  looked  at  them  as  he 
waited.  These  new  people  were  in  the  mass  small,  or  thick- 
set, alert,  intelligent,  merry,  witty  yet  uncouth  in  movement, 
speech  and  dress.  Yes,  they  were  warmly,  but  very  badly 
dressed,  the  women  equally  with  the  men. 

It  was  plain,  too,  that  they  were  remarkably  social.  Most 
of  the  people  on  these  platforms  stared  rudely  at  Kirk,  and 
made  very  audible  remarks.  His  general  manner  and  calm 
aloofness,  in  especial  his  puttees,  excited  interest  and  a  rude 
wit,  for  he  was  in  that  part  of  the  station  where  terminates  a 
long  line  from  one  of  the  most  enclosed  and  clannish  dales  in 
south-east  Yorkshire.  "Ay!  they're  rough  fowlk  there!"  say 
even  Yorkshiremen,  from  districts  but  little  better  polished. 

The  engine  was  painted  black.  Even  the  first  and  second- 
class  carriages  looked  bare  and  dirty;  they  were  inferior  to 
many  a  third-class  carriage  on  southern  railways.  Brough  re- 
turned with  two  first-class  tickets.  He  and  Kirk  took  their 
seats  in  the  crowded  train.  Silent  surprise  filled  the  younger 
man  as  he  found  his  fellow  first-class  passengers  were  merely 
some  of  the  crowd,  awkwardly  dressed  in  top-hats  and  cut- 
away coats.  This  dress  was  their  only  distinction.  They 
spoke  the  same  broad  dialect  as  the  crowd,  and  all  their  con- 
versation was  commercial,  kitchenly  domestic,  or  of  very  local 
athletics.  Kirk  began  to  see  that  differences  of  caste  among 
this  folk  were  solely  financial.  Money,  and  brains  for  money- 
making  forthwith  determined  one's  position.  It  seemed  that 
breeding,  science,  learning,  art  and  literature,  could  have  no 

200 


THE    BOKN    FOOL  201 

place  or  voice  or  power  in  this  unknown  part  of  the  world  he 
was  to  live  in;  and  he  felt  a  painful  separateness  and  revul- 
sion. To  relieve  this  feeling  he  conjured  up  with  intense  af- 
fection visions  of  the  heaths  and  rich  vales  of  Cirenhampton, 
now  so  divided  from  him.  He  knew  not  yet  how  kind  were 
these  people;  he  was  unaware  they  admired  refinement  in 
others,  even  though  they  did  not  permit  it,  except  with  great 
suspicion,  in  the  clan. 

Presently  the  train  began  to  grind  and  thump  its  way  out 
over  very  bad  permanent-way,  first  between  successions  of 
blank  begrimed  walls,  and  then  through  broken  and  precipi- 
tous clay-ground  all  thickly  built  over  with  factories,  or  rows 
of  small  blackened  houses.  These  black  buildings  and  dwell- 
ings were  set  at  every  possible  angle  and  direction  with  each 
other.  There  was  no  order.  The  environs  of  the  city  were 
heavily  palled  by  smoke,  the  sky  was  foully  soiled,  and  dark- 
ening. Kirk  looked  down  into  steaming  oily  reservoirs  of  con- 
densing-water ;  and  up  again  at  greasy  works — built  on  highly 
sloping  ground — having  every  window  lower  than  its  neigh- 
bour, and  already,  at  half-past  two  filled  with  yellow  lights. 
He  saw  houses  on  the  verge  of  cliffs  of  drab  clay,  naked, 
dirty  clay — deeply  furrowed  by  rain,  and  dangerously  cut 
away  from  the  buildings  it  supported.  Every  solitary  tree 
and  bush  and  flower  had  many  years  ago  given  up  the  struggle 
for  life.  Not  a  pot  of  flowers  or  fern  showed  inside  a  dwell- 
ing-house. Kirk  now  discovered  more  and  more  frequently 
the  small  dirty  river  that  made  polluted  way  beneath  and 
through  this  mournful  complex.  At  last  houses  became  less 
frequent,  less  up-and-down-hill,  and  soon  he  looked  out  at 
miles  and  miles  of  passing  mounds  and  shapeless  banks ;  they 
too  were  all  trodden  or  poisoned  bare  of  every  vestige  of. 
living  green.  Even  the  coltsfoot,  spreading  coarse  grey  leaves, 
opening  in  March  its  welcome  yellow  flowers  on  the  grey  ruin 
of  coal-mines,  here  was  absent.  A  drizzling  rain  commenced, 
and  the  drear  hardened  surfaces  Kirk  looked  on  became  wet 
and  slippery,  and  reflected  dully  the  light  that  filtered  through 


202  THE    BOKN    FOOL 

the  unbroken  canopy  of  smoke.  After  this  waste  came  a  mile 
or  two  of  melancholy  parkland,  still  preserved  from  the  uni- 
versal digging,  delving,  and  building,  yet  all  the  more  drear 
from  the  blackened  dying  trees  that  looked  so  miserable  and 
dirty — like  the  shabby-genteel  starving,  whom  one  sees  sitting 
dejected  on  the  public  seats  of  the  wealthier  British  cities. 

Presently  the  population  became  less  dense,  the  sky  light- 
ened, and  Kirk  looked  forth  upon  the  almost  unbroken  suc- 
cession of  great  woollen  mills,  dye-works,  bleach-works,  chem- 
ical-works, brick-works,  calico  print  works,  engineering  works, 
and  an  occasional  cotton-mill.  Brough  in  somewhat  unusual 
serious  and  kindly  mood  pointed  to  several  of  these  as  they 
were  passed. 

"Those  people  make  half  the  serge  for  the  Navy."-  -"All 
those  white  sails  at  Cowes  come  from  that  dirty  place."- 
"Yes,  I  suppose  it  does  seem  ugly  to  you,  Clinton,  but  you'll 
soon  get  used  to  it;  I  remember  I  thought  once  I  never  could 
live  here !  I  had  just  come  down  from  Sussex,  but  now,  you 
know,  it  seems  all  right.  .  .  .  You  feel  like  that,  don't  you  ? 
— Yes,  I  thought  you  did." 

Brough  turned  a  hard  smile  and  a  kind  eye  on  his  young 
companion.  He  was  a  keen  observer.  "They  are  not  bad 
people,  Clinton,  you  will  soon  get  used  to  it  all.  It's  dirty, 
but  it's  where  the  money  is  made,  and  you'll  have  excellent 
experience."  Somewhat  comforted,  Kirk  sat  and  listened  to 
the  extraordinarily  harsh  accents  that  burst  in  when  the  car- 
riage door  opened  at  one  of  the  work-a-day  stations. 

Low  distant  hills  appeared  on  each  side ;  they  were  void  of 
trees  or  beauty,  and  looked  cold,  naked,  and  begrimed.  These 
hills  grew  nearer  and  higher,  puffs  of  steam  were  seen  upon 
them,  their  sides  were  scarred  and  deeply  trenched  by  cable- 
ways,  brick-works  and  quarries.  Soon  afterwards  the  train 
entered  a  deep  but  open  valley  in  which  grass  and  trees  of  a 
kind  at  least  relieved  the  eyes.  The  station-names  were  now 
very  expressive — Eamsclough,  Little  Shaw,  Grinden,  Old 


THE    BOKN    FOOL  203 

Mill,  Stcneyclough,  Strubble  Carr,  Mon  End,  Delfhole,  Blue- 
pits,  Quarrside,  Cablefoot,  ISFew  Mill,  Brickhouse,  Moorbot- 
tom,  etc.  They  were,  indeed,  in  keeping  with  the  bare  stone- 
walled pasture  of  the  hill-sides,  with  the  cold  discoloured 
river,  rushing  between  the  greasy  boulders  and  among  the 
littered  slabs  of  grey  shale ;  they  were  in  agreement  with  the 
ugly  buildings  of  laborious  human  life,  crowded  in  patches 
along  the  narrowing  valley-bottom. 

The  sky  had  cleared  before  the  train  drew  up  at  Bruside. 
Clinton  with  his  companion  stepped  out  into  an  air  smokey 
indeed  to  a  fine  observer,  but  much  purer  and  colder  than  that 
which  they  had  left  behind.  Here  the  valley-floor  widened, 
and  here  in  consequence  the  water  engineers  had  determined 
to  spread  out  and  build  their  works,  their  great  filters,  wells, 
reservoirs,  and  pumping-stations.  The  long  oval  flat,  or 
"carr,"  was  hemmed  in  eastwards  by  the  dirty  river,  rushing 
in  a  great  curve  beneath  high  steeps  of  clay  and  stone ;  above 
this  curve  rose  heavy  shoulders  of  grey  tumbled  grass,  set  with 
naked  stunted  hawthorn  bushes.  Five  hundred  feet  higher, 
hidden  by  the  shoulders  of  the  hills,  stood  the  little  town  of 
Bruside. 

Westward  the  rough  pastures  rose  up  more  smoothly  from 
the  carr,  and  in  this  misty  afternoon  one  could  not  see  the 
more  distant  hills  and  moors:  nor  were  visible  the  factories 
and  works  that  everywhere  occupied  their  deep  folds,  A 
small  tenacious  winter-beaten  wood,  already  leafless,  filled  the 
narrow  side-valley  that  entered  at  the  far  end  of  the  carr. 

Brough  and  Clinton  made  their  way,  between  heaps  of  plant 
and  materials,  towards  the  middle  of  the  open  land,  and  there 
they  looked  round.  Brough  explained  the  works,  the  arrange- 
ments, what  had  been  commenced,  what  was  immediately  to 
be  done.  As  they  walked  about  he  gave  Kirk  many  useful 
hints  and  particulars.  From  the  painful  intensity  of  new  im- 
pressions, of  gazing  on  these  new  unfriendly  scenes,  Kirk 
with  effort  drew  himself  down  into  his  objective  self.  He 
forced  himself  to  listen  and  attentively  observe.  As  they 


204  THE    BOKN    FOOL 

walked  about  they  were  at  times  almost  choked  with  heavy 
green  cement  dust,  with  fine  red  dust  from  the  crushers,  smoke 
from  the  pumps,  and  hot  fumes  from  several  kilns  that  were 
burning  rough  bricks.  The  navvies,  Kirk  noticed,  were  all 
Irishmen, — "They  come  over  to  Liverpool  and  find  their  way 
here,"  said  Brough — "They  make  very  good  navvies,  but  are 
no  good  as  gangers.  .  .  .  Well,  we'll  now  go  and  have  a  look 
at  the  plans." 

They  approached  two  old  cottages  of  grimy  stone,  which 
stood  in  a  waste  of  upturned  boulder-clay.  Kecently  there 
had  been  three  cottages,  but  one  prematurely  had  been  pulled 
down — wrenched  off  as  it  were  from  its  fellows.  On  the  ex- 
posed gable-end,  the  blue  lime-washed  plaster  of  the  vanished 
bedroom  and  the  marks  left  by  a  staircase  showed  in  the  raw 
afternoon. 

The  remaining  cottages  were  now  being  used  as  stores  and 
temporary  office. 

The  Bruside*  quarry  owner  who  supplied  the  works  with 
stone  and  rubble  awaited  them.  Brough  spoke  to  Kirk  as 
they  walked  towards  this  gaunt  north-country  man. 

"You  will  find  Aikrigg  a  very  decent  fellow,  Clinton,  and 
he  said  he  would  get  some  rooms  for  you ;  he  says  there  is  no 
hotel  or  inn  where  you  can  stay.  I  have  never  myself  been 
up  to  Bruside." 

Kirk  struggled  with  an  intense  nausea  and  repulsion  to  all 
this.  He  felt  unaccountably  unwell.  He  knew  at  heart,  now, 
that  he  hated  the  engineering  life,  that  he  longed  to  be  freed 
from  it  for  ever,  to  leave  for  ever  all  these  people  so  deeply 
wrapped  in  work  and  money.  But  his  inbred  sense  of  duty 
and  obedience  was  stronger,  and  in  the  midst  of  physical 
and  spiritual  depression  he  sought  conscientiously  to  forget 
no  detail  essential  to  his  immediate  charge  of  these  works. 

The  plans  were  unrolled  upon  a  rough  table  of  boards,  a 
lamp  was  lit  in  the  dark  cottage,  and  Brough  pointed  out  par- 
ticulars while  Kirk  listened,  or  questioned.     Then  the  chief 
*  Bruside  should  be  pronounced — Broo-side. 


THE    BORN    FOOL  205 

foreman,  the  timekeeper  and  the  accountant  were  introduced 
in  turn,  with  scant  ceremony,  and,  of  course,  without  hand- 
shake. 

"This,  Stallabrass,  is  Mr.  Clinton,  your  new  engineer." 

They  greeted  him  with  friendliness,  it  seemed,  after  keen 
glances — 

"Good  afternoon,  Sir." 

"Good  afternoon,  Sir." 

It  was  quite  dusk  when  Brough  prepared  to  return.  With 
Aikrigg,  he  and  Kirk  left  the  cottages.  White  mists  were 
creeping  and  rising  from  the  heavy  and  saturated  clayey 
ground. 

"Well,  good-bye,  Clinton;  send  for  me  or  come  down  and 
see  me,  if  you  want  anything  important,  and  .  .  .  oh !  I  for- 
got— old  man  Bendigo  insists  on  his  engineers  in  the  North 
themselves  going  to  bank  and  personally  bringing  the  money 
back,  so  you  better  come  and  see  me  each  Friday.  You'll  re- 
ceive a  blank  cheque  from  London  some  time  in  the  week,  and 
you  must  fill  it  up  for  what  you  require — Baker  here  will 
give  you  the  amount,  and  you  must  look  into  it  yourself  and 
personally  see  the  men  paid.  It's  a  fad  of  the  Old  Man.  .  .  . 

"No  ?  you  did  not  do  that  in  the  South  ?  .   .    . 

"No,  don't  bother  seeing  me  off,  Aikrigg  will  take  you  up 
to  Bruside  by  some  short  cut  he  knows.  Good-bye,  Clinton 
...  if  you  do  as  well  as  I  hear  you've  done  at  Cirenhampton, 
you'll  do  very  well  indeed." 

Mr.  Aikrigg  soon  after  was  toiling  up  to  Bruside  with  the 
new  engineer.  They  went  up  through  rough  pasture-fields, 
walking  slowly  up  a  cinder-path  beside  dry-stone  black  walls, 
a  path  so  steep  that  every  now  and  then  they  halted  for 
breath. 

The  weak  daylight  of  November  had  almost  gone,  the  air 
was  become  much  colder,  and  the  valley  beneath  them  filled 
itself  with  heavy  vapours.  Somewhere  below  roared  a  river- 
weir.  The  large  mill  beneath  them  was  brilliantly  lit  inside, 


206  THE    BOKN    FOOL 

and  the  windows  of  a  second  mill  glowed  faintly  yellow  at  the 
far  end  of  the  extensive  misty  works.  But  overhead  the  sky 
showed  a  very  dark  grey-blue.  The  hills,  that  formed  the  dis- 
tant valley-side  to  the  south  and  west,  were  shrouded  with  be- 
calmed smoke  and  fog  drifts,  but  a  ruddy  sunset  seemed  to  lie 
beyond. 

Kirk  again  felt  that  new  and  unaccountable  deep  depres- 
sion. He  also  felt  physically  cold,  and  his  skin  shrank  and 
crept  with  the  wretched  sensations  that  indicate  a  tempera- 
ture. He  turned  up  the  collar  of  his  great  coat.  He  felt  a 
tightness  over  his  forehead ;  he  suffered  a  kind  of  homo-sick- 
ness, and  also  a  sickness  of  the  body.  He  experienced  a  mis- 
erable distaste  and  fear,  quite  new  to  him,  and  he  conjectured 
dully  that  it  must  be  due  to  this  barbarous  environment. 
Meanwhile  he  toiled  slowly  up  with  his  big  adviser.  At 
length  they  came  into  a  broad  road  graded  along  the  flanks  of 
a  bare  shoulder  in  the  rounded  lower  hills.  A  few  strong 
bushes  dotted  the  near  slopes,  but  there  were  no  trees.  Ab- 
stractedly Kirk  noticed  there  were  gas-lamps  along  this  open 
hill-road,  that  the  paths  were  of  black  cinder,  and,  beneath 
the  lamps,  his  gaze  fell  on  the  uncommonly  massive  herb- 
stones  of  the  setted  road.  His  intelligence,  unasked,  tokl  his 
weary  mind — "A  stone  country,  with  heavy  wheeled  traffic." 

"Ar'm  feared  tha'll  fainde  this  a  cowd  pierce,  Mesther  ?" 

"Yes,  it  feels  much  colder  here." 

.   .   .  "Art  coom  fra'  South?" 

"Yes,  from  Hampshire;  a  lovely  country." 

"Ar  thote  so,  bey  tha'  talk.  Mesther  Brough  cooms  reet 
fra  South,  he  laffs  at  our  talk!"  Aikrigg  himself  laughed 
shortly  and  good  naturedly — "He  says  konno  unnerston  it!" 
not  all." 

"We're  hey  opp  now,  look  yon!"  said  Aikrigg,  turning 
round  and  pausing  to  rest. 

Kirk  gazed  over  the  dark  tumbled  country,  and  saw  faint 
distant  rows  of  yellow  lights,  where  the  graded  setted  roads 
climbed  out  of  the  valleys,  only  to  descend  again  to  the  in- 


THE    BORN    FOOL  207 

numerable  towns  and  villages.  He  saw  distant  clustered 
lights  that  marked  townships  that  were  unhidden.  High  and 
dark  hills  spread  out  opposite  to  him ;  the  deep  valley  from 
which  he  had  ascended  lay  between. 

"Yonder  th'  moors !  There's  note  but  a  farm  or  two  for 
mony  a  mile,"  said  Aikrigg,  looking  with  his  young  com- 
panion, and  he  added  in  a  friendly  way,  "It'll  seem  wild-like 
to  y'r,  i'  these  parts  ?" 

"Yes  .   .   .  how  high  are  all  those  hills  ?" 

Aikrigg  laughed  at  the  strange  question — 

"Ay,  ar'm  sure  ar  konno  tell  tha !  .  .  .  But  there's  soom 
big  uns ;  Eebpike's  biggest,  ther  ser." 

They  walked  on:  stone  "flags"  underfoot  took  the  place  of 
cinders,  and  the  small  town  of  Bruside  began  with  a  house 
or  two  on  left  and  right  of  the  broad  stone  road.  Where  the 
gas  lamps  showed  them,  Kirk  looked  closely  at  the  strongly 
built  stone  houses ;  they  were  somehow  the  barest  he  had  ever 
seen.  They  showed  not  an  inch  of  eaves.  A  pair  of  hewn 
stones,  tall  and  rough,  made  the  two  doorway  sides,  a  third 
made  the  lintel.  Window  openings  were  the  same.  There  were 
no  gardens,  no  hedges  to  the  houses,  and  their  enclosures  were 
fenced  by  means  of  paving  slabs,  set  on  edge,  and  clamped 
top  and  bottom  with  rough  iron.  Through  gapways  he  still 
perceived  dimly  the  hills  rising  steeply  into  darkness  on  the 
left.  On  the  right  was  the  steep  descent  towards  the  dark 
valley ;  and  the  low  mournful  note,  hollow  and  hornlike,  from 
an  engine  drawing  its  winding  train  down  there,  now  came 
up  softly  out  of  the  deep  trough. 

Some  women  now  passed  Kirk,  their  heads  and  forms 
shrouded  by  thick  shawls.  From  these  cowls  they  gazed 
curiously  as  they  hurried  past.  The  unusual  rattling  of  their 
feet  made  Kirk  ask  Aikrigg — 

"Do  they  wear  clogs  here  ?" 

"Yi,  all  t'lasses  wears  clogs,  except  o'  Sundays." 

"Yool  unnerstan,  Mesther,"  began  Aikrigg,  walking  still 


208  THE    BORN    FOOL 

slower,  "it's  verra  difficult  to  find  where  to  put  tha,  here; 
f owk  lives  ith  ther  orn  pierces,  and  they  mostly  none  wants 
strerngers  amoong  them.  They  all  warks  at  mill,  tha  knaws, 
and  gets  good  munney ;  they'd  rathher  wark  nor  let  lodgings. 
Messes  Gisburn's  offen  had  fowk  in,  but  i'  Bruside  tha  mun 
et  and  met  wi  fowk  if  tha  unnerstons  me,  Mesther  Clenton  ?" 

"You  mean  they  must  live  and  eat  all  together  ?" 

"That's  it,  young  fella !"  said  Aikrigg,  with  relief.  "That's 
it,  Mesther,  they're  verra  proud  fowk  i'  Bruside,  tho  arm 
none  so  gradeley  proud  mysen,  as  soom.  I'd  a  takken  thee  in 
joost  to  please  Mesther  Brough — Arve  a  respect  to  him,  and  a' 
said  thee  wert  a  decent  chap — Yo  could  have  tha  orn  pierce 
and  meat  for  awt  I  mind — but  ar'm  thronged  wi'  children, 
and  all  th'rooms  takken-oop." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Aikrigg,  for  the  kind  intention." 

"Oh  it's  nowt,  Mesther.  But  this  is  Messes  Gisburn's ;  if 
tha'll  stop  here  a'll  goo  in  and  tell  her." 

He  knocked  with  one  hand  as  he  turned  the  door-knob  and 
went  in.  He  closed  the  door  after  himself. 

There  was  a  lamp-post  quite  near,  and  Kirk  looked  up  at 
the  house.  It  looked  older  and  was  much  larger  than  its 
neighbours,  and  was  quite  detached.  This  house  was  pecu- 
liar, for  the  entrance  was  at  one  side,  the  back  faced  the  road- 
way and  the  rising  hills.  In  relation  to  the  main  street  this 
house  was  back  to  front.  The  broad  gable-end  that  caught  the 
lamp-light  had  been  tarred,  it  seemed.  The  ground  or  field,  or 
whatever  it  was,  evidently  fell  steeply  away  from  the  hidden 
front  of  the  house,  and,  over  the  slab-stone  wall,  and  past  the 
house,  Kirk  could  see  the  opaque  darkness  of  the  distant 
moorland,  beyond  the  great  valley  out  of  which  he  had 
ascended. 

A  short  distance  up  the  setted  street  stood  a  man  in  the  well 
of  a  sturdily  built  hawker's  cart.  Kirk  had  not  before  seen  a 
cart  like  this.  Fixed  to  the  uncouth  vehicle  flared  a  petro- 
leum lamp.  The  brilliant  light  showed  a  strong  cob  that 
stood  still,  but  with  head  drooping.  The  bearded  weather- 


THE    BOR^"    FOOL  209 

beaten  hawker  took  up  an  old  bell,  sad-voiced,  mellow  and  low 
of  note.  Strangely  measured,  "beat — beat"  .  .  .  "beat 
— beat"  .  .  .  the  four  solemn  clangs  fell  on  the  night,  and  in 
the  long  pause  following  a  sad  dirge  commenced  in  equal 
rhythm  a  wild  but  slow  and  sorrowful  tune  through  Kirk's 
imagination,  and  he  remembered  the  day  at  Junipen. 

An  approaching  pattering  of  small  clogs  brought  him  back 
to  where  he  stood.  Two  forms  shrouded  in  shawls  were  brisk- 
ly coming  towards  him  down  the  wide  stone  path,  and  with 
them  was  a  slim  man.  After  them  came  a  procession  of  peo- 
ple; men,  women,  girls  and  boys,  evidently  returning  from 
the  woollen-mills  and  the  day's  work. 

Kirk  stood  beneath  the  lamp  and  the  man  and  two  girls 
or  women — Kirk  could  not  tell  which — slowed  their  steps  as 
they  reached  him,  fell  into  single  file,  and  almost  stopped  as 
Kirk  made  way  for  them.  The  girls  gazed  at  him  intently 
from  beneath  their  shawls,  then  passed  him  to  enter  the 
house.  But  the  second  girl  hesitated,  turned  back,  slipped 
her  shawl  off  her  head,  slightly  smiled  at  him,  then  turned 
again  and  went  in,  leaving  the  door  wide  ajar.  Kirk  had 
caught  a  sharp  view  of  a  pair  of  broad  young  shoulders,  a 
good  form,  clear  kindly  eyes,  two  dimples,  a  smoothed  head 
of  pale  shining  hair,  a  deep  fringe  on  the  forehead,  a  slightly 
heavy  chin,  and  full  lips.  At  this  moment  a  woman's  voice 
called  out  within — "Gurls !  Marian !  Jim !  Whatever  are  ye 
doing  ?  Ask  him  to  come  in,  Mr.  Aikrigg !"  Aikrigg  and  the 
girl  who  had  paused  now  came  out  together. 

"Ar  think  tha'll  be  ar  reet  here,  Mesther  Clenton" — Aik- 
rigg was  smiling — "Aw've  seed  th'  owd  leddy  for  thee.  Aw  I 
Marian !  he'll  n5ne  be  wi'out  company,  lass,  eh  ? — Goodneet. 
.  .  .  Ay  never  mention  it!  tha'll  be  well  looked  after  here* 
Goodneet,  Marian !  Goodneet !" 

Jim  asked  Kirk  in.  Marian  followed  them.  Jim  was 
tall,  thin,  about  thirty-two  years  of  age,  and  quite  unlike  his 
sisters,  for  his  face  was  thin  and  long,  his  nose  large  and 


210  THE    BORN   FOOL 

long,  his  eyes  brown,  his  hair  black.  He  had  a  cheerful  man- 
ner, and  a  most  musical  voice.  He  helped  Kirk  off  with  his 
great  coat.  Kirk  unconsciously  forgave  the  accent,  for  the 
sweetness  of  the  voice.  Marian  had  waited;  her  eyes  now 
shone  as  she  followed  the  two  men.  She  looked  all  over 
Kirk's  form,  especially  at  his  well-cut  breeches  and  his 
shapely  putteed  legs. 

In  a  large  well-lit  living-room  Kirk  found  himself  facing 
a  strong,  tall,  and  spare  woman,  some  sixty  years  of  age. 
Her  thin  hard  mouth  drooped  at  the  corners.  By  her  hard 
face,  her  calm  eyes,  her  deep  lines,  one  judged  correctly  that 
she  had  known  and  bitterly  combated  with  trouble. 

Jim,  and  his  younger  sisters  Dinah  and  Marian,  stood  with 
their  gaze  riveted  on  Kirk.  But  Ruth,  eldest  of  the  four, 
went  on  with  her  work,  quickly  set  the  table  for  a  meal  and 
went  hastily  to  and  from  the  kitchen. 

Kirk  first  shook  hands  with  Mrs.  Gisburn,  and  then  she 
introduced  him  simply,  giving  each  name. 

"This  is  Marian,  she's  third  .  .  ."  and  Kirk  took  the 
girl's  hand.  She  it  was  who  turned  back  a  moment  at  the 
door.  Kirk  thought  her  about  twenty. 

Then  he  took  Jim's  rough  and  hard  hand.  "He's  th' 
second,  he's  fettler  at  mill.  .  .  . 

"This  is  Dinah,  she's  th'  youngest  here."  Dinah  had  a 
hard  mouth  but  was  otherwise  a  rather  plump  and  pretty 
little  dark  blonde.  Her  sharp  eyes  were  blue.  Marian's  were 
grey.  Marian  was  a  fair  girl  and  had  a  splendid  mass  of  pale 
golden  hair.  Calling  the  eldest  girl  Mrs.  Gisburn  said,  "This 
is  Ruth,  she  stays  at  home  mostly  .  .  .  an'  I've  another  gurl, 
my  own,  t'youngest,  Jane,  oop  at  Thirsk,  wi'  her  aunt  and 
uncle."  Mrs.  Gisburn  paused  a  moment,  then  went  on> 
speaking. 

"I  call  them  mine,  but  I'm  their  stepmother.  I've  brought 
them  all  oop,  sin'  they  were  varry  small  ...  so  like  they'll 
call  me  mother  .  .  .  their  name's  Butterworth."  Then  Mrs. 
Gisburn  again  looked  at  Kirk,  attentively  and  kindly. 


THE    BORN   FOOL  211 

"Ay!  but  ye  look  fair  peaked!  Sit  ye  down  now,  do." 
And  turning  on  Jimmie,  Marian,  and  Dinah,  who  had  stood 
there  motionless  and  fascinated,  she  spoke  sharply — 

"Gurls,  be  quick!  Jim,  lad!  don't  stand  sturing!  Get 
the  tea !"  All  three  promptly  moved  off. 

"All  right,  it's  ready,  mother,"  mildly  said  Ruth  as  she 
went  quickly  into  the  kitchen.  She  had  a  steady  patient 
look  in  her  dark  grey  eyes.  Her  high  prominent  forehead, 
her  small  disciplined  m6uth,  her  dark  neat  hair,  the  delicate 
pale  complexion,  her  unobtrusive  useful  figure,  all  were  in 
keeping  with  the  gentle  and  resigned  nun-like  aspect  that  she 
presented.  It  was  very  evident  she  would  not  be  so  worldly, 
nor  possess  the  temper  of  her  stepmother— under  whose  domi- 
nation Ruth  had  spent  twenty-five  years  of  her  life,  and  she 
was  now  thirty-five. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

UPON  getting  out  of  bed  on  this  first  Sunday,  Kirk  did 
not  feel  at  all  well,  and  in  the  glass  he  noticed  how 
oddly  blue  and  shrunken  his  face  appeared.  But  he  went 
to  church  with  Jim  and  two  of  the  girls.  He  went  because 
Ruth  had  smiled  sweetly,  and  asked  him, 

"Would  you  like  to  come  to  church  with  us,  Mr.  Clinton  ? 
We  have  such  a  comfortable  pew,  and  such  a  nice  minister." 

He  saw  instinctively  that  Ruth's  religion  was  her  life, 
and  on  impulse  he  thanked  her,  and  said  he  would  go.  He 
went  upstairs  and  brought  down  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer 
given  him  by  his  Mother  for  use  at  Severnly.  Ruth,  now 
ready,  glanced  down  at  the  little  book. 

"May  I  look  at  your  prayer-book  ?    Is  it  like  ours  ?" 

Smiling,  he  said,  "Look."  As  she  took  the  book  it  opened 
at  the  fly-leaf. 

"What  small,  beautiful  handwriting!  .  .  .  May  I  read 
it?" 

"Yes,"  said  Kirk,  with  feeling.    "My  mother  wrote  that" 

Kirk,  as  he  looked  at  Ruth's  severely  neat  dress,  thought 
to  himself — "She  is  very  different  from  the  others,  and  she 
speaks  quite  well."  He  opened  the  house-door  for  Marian 
and  her  brother,  then  he  followed  beside  Ruth.  Seeming 
to  know  his  thoughts,  she  said, 

"I  was  to  have  been  a  teacher,  I  studied  a  great  deal,  and 
passed  several  examinations,  but  you  see  mother,  my  step- 
mother, wanted  me  at  home — and  it  was  my  duty,  you  see, 
to  be  there." 

Ruth  by  long  habit  again  gently  and  easily  repressed  her 

212 


THE    BORN    FOOL  213 

one  great  sorrow ;  she  smiled,  and  Kirk  with  a  feeling  of  re- 
spect glanced  sideways  at  the  ecstatic  face. 

The  church  had  plain  windows,  it  was  mill-like,  newish, 
and  yet  had  a  massive  pair  of  galleries  crowded  within  it; 
the  congregation  was  large,  and  mostly  of  families.  To 
Kirk's  eyes  they  seemed  badly,  dingily  dressed,  and  the  whole 
effect  was,  as  Kirk  expressed  it  to  himself,  "Old  Wesleyan." 
He  was  not  displeased  to  note  that  Jimmie,  Ruth,  and 
Marian,  were  among  the  better  dressed.  The  vicar,  Mr. 
Vosper,  was  an  elderly  rubicund  man,  but  of  refined  face. 
He  spoke  with  a  pure  cultured  accent.  Kirk,  though  grave 
enough  to  outward  semblance,  was  amused  when  he  found  he 
was  an  object  of  great  interest  to  the  congregation,  and  at 
least  four  times  he  met  the  inquiring  eye  of  the  vicar. 

Kirk  ate  his  Sunday  dinner  with  the  family.  In  daylight 
he  had  noticed  the  dark  rings  beneath  the  girls'  eyes,  the 
lines  produced  by  chronic  long  hours  and  tiredness.  He 
felt  sympathy  for  them  having  to  do  what  seemed  endless 
housework.  The  Saturday  afternoon  when  they  were  home 
from  the  mill  had  been  spent  entirely  in  dusting,  sweeping, 
washing,  scouring,  and  in  polishing  the  furniture.  He  had 
gone  out  for  a  walk,  and  on  his  return  at  dusk  they  had  not 
finished.  Mrs.  Gisburn  was  in  firm  and  strong  command 
of  these  operations.  Kirk  thought  the  girls  would  have  done 
wiser  to  have  gone  out  of  doors,  breathed  the  fresh  air,  and 
enjoyed  the  pale  unusual  sunlight  of  November,  on  those 
hills  that  he  desired  already  to  explore.  The  girls'  week- 
day hour  of  rising  seemed  most  severe.  In  the  cold  and 
darkness  of  each  early  morning,  Kirk  heard  Ruth's  footsteps 
descend  the  faintly  creaking  stair.  On  the  Monday  morning 
he  struck  a  match,  and  found  the  time  was  but  a-quarter-to- 
five.  Then  he  heard  the  heavier  step  of  Mrs.  Gisburn,  and 
lastly  the  others  followed — wearily,  it  seemed  to  him — and 
he  felt  a  sense  of  shame,  that  a  man,  himself,  should  lie 
still  and  warm  in  bed,  while  these  girls  set  out  in  the  raw, 


214  THE    BORN   FOOL 

cold,  unfinished  night  to  commence  their  twelve-hour  day. 
He  inquired  on  Sunday,  and  was  shocked  to  find  these  girls 
worked  from  6  a.m.  to  5.30  p.m.  winter  and  summer,  except- 
ing only  Saturdays,  when  they  came  home  earlier. 

He  openly  expressed  his  feelings,  and  the  faces  of  the  two 
younger  girls  hardened,  saddened,  and  changed;  but  Mrs. 
Gisburn  explained  roundly,  speaking  more  to  Marian  and 
Dinah  than  to  Kirk,  it  seemed, — 

"Aye,  Mr.  Clinton !  ye  don't  know  Yorksheer  folk !  it's  all 
come-day,  go-day,  work-a-day,  and  always  has  been  i'  this 

part  o'  Yorksheer "  and  at  tEis  moment  Kirk  surprisedly 

caught  a  wink  from  Jim's  eye. 

Some  secret  fear  had  been  aroused  in  Mrs.  Gisburn's 
mind;  she  rose  from  the  table  and  whispered  to  the  girls 
sharply  but  quietly  and  aside — 

"Ruth !  Marian !  Dinah !  what  are  ye  sitting  for !  Gurls ! 
come  on !  get  the  pots  weshed !  it's  after  two  o'clock !  There's 
lots  to  be  done." 

Reluctantly  they  pushed  their  chairs  back  and  moved 
wearily  to  obey  the  monotonous  necessities  of  their  lives. 

Kirk  had  found  himself  without  appetite;  and  what  food 
he  had  tried  to  eat  seemed  coarse,  unpleasant,  and  badly 
cooked.  The  step-mother,  sisters  and  brother  had  all  noticed 
Kirk's  want  of  appetite,  and  he  had  apologised  and  said  it 
must  be  the  change  of  climate.  Ruth  was  a  little  troubled, 
and  said  to  her  sister  while  they  "washed  up"  in  the 
kitchen — 

"Marian,  do  you  think  it  is  because  he's  not  used  to  our 
food?" 

"Nay,  I  don't  think  so,  he  looks  a  bit  poorly  to  me  .  .  . 
but  isn't  he  nice?" 

Ruth — drying  a  plate — stopped,  thought,  and  said, 
"Mother  will  worship  him  soon,  if  I  know  her." 

They  knew  too  intimately  what  Ruth  meant.  Their  step- 
mother was  a  good  woman,  but  had  been  reared  among  cold 
winds,  hard  work,  and  little  joy.  Her  mouth  showed  a  se- 


THE    BORN    FOOL  215 

vere  and  self-willed  character.  She  was  not  selfish,  but  she 
adhered  rigidly  to  custom,  and  to  those  pitiless,  ultra-ener- 
getic ways,  in  which  she  herself  had  been  brought  up.  Ex- 
cept for  a  few  days,  she  had  never  been  outside  this  district. 
Respectability,  money,  work,  independence,  were  the  highest 
and  the  sole  ideals  of  her  environment.  She  had  no  imagina- 
tion, and  in  that  same  furrow  in  which  life  had  trained  and 
started  her,  she  had  always  remained.  Mrs.  Gisburn  hardly 
understood  any  one  being  ill,  most  especially  if  they  were 
of  her  own  sex  and  family,  but  when  on  one  or  two  occasions 
she  had  realised  it — as  in  the  case  of  her  husband — she  had 
at  once  been  devoted,  constant,  and  unremitting  in  such 
meagre  attentions  as  occurred  to  her;  but  by  then  the  pa- 
tient had  been  beyond  her  help.  Yet  she  had  adulated  her 
husband.  She  would  have  spoilt  her  stepson  Jim,  but  for 
his  fund  of  good  sense  and  good  nature.  She  admired  and 
liked  men,  but  for  girls  and  women  she  felt  but  little  sym- 
pathy. Duty  was  her  keystone.  Tardily,  and  after  years, 
and  only  now  they  had  grown  up,  had  this  woman  been  able 
to  transfer  some  of  that  severe  affection  that  lived  in  her  to 
these  young  women  who  called  her  mother.  Yet, — after 
only  two  years  of  married  life — when  newly  widowed,  and 
with  but  small  means,  she  willingly  kept,  nay  insisted  on  the 
charge  of  the  four  orphans,  despite  pressing  offers  from  the 
children's  relatives,  and  by  the  time  they  began  to  earn 
money,  she  had  well  nigh  spent  on  them  every  penny  she 
had  brought  her  husband. 

Early  on  Wednesday,  after  hearing  the  heavy  street-door 
shut  behind  the  girls,  and  while  it  was  still  dark,  Kirk  pre- 
pared to  dress  and  go  down  early  to  the  works ;  but  a  severe 
sick  feeling  overcame  him,  so  that  for  some  time  he  sat 
on  his  bedside.  A  cold  perspiration  was  followed  by  sensa- 
tions of  extreme  heat.  He  unbuttoned  his  sleeping- jacket, 
and  observed  with  astonishment  a  mass  of  red  spots  upon  his 
chest.  He  returned  to  bed  and  waited  until  the  day  grew 


216  THE    BORN    FOOL 

light.  Then  he  rang  a  little  hand-bell  with  which  Mrs.  Gis- 
burn  had  provided  him. 

"No!  do  not  come  in,  Mrs.  Gisburn!" 

They  spoke  through  the  half-open  door.  He  told  Mrs. 
Gisburn  his  suspicion,  and  she  sent  for  the  doctor.  A  young 
medical  assistant  arrived  in  half  an  hour,  for  he  lived  close 
by  and  kept  early  Yorkshire  hours;  for  the  practice  covered 
a  wide  area. 

After  examination,  he  raised  his  brows  and  smiled,  saying, 
"You  have  measles !  Mr.  Clinton."  .  .  .  "No,  we  can't  send 
you  to  a  hospital,  for  we  haven't  one."  .  .  .  "Burndale  ?  Oh 
no !  no  need  to  send  him  all  that  way." 

"No,  Mrs.  Gisburn,  you  must  hang  a  sheet  over  the  door 
and  keep  it  wet  with  a  solution  I'll  send  you  directly.  It's 
a  big  room,  and  you  must  put  an  old  cloak  on  and  off  ... 
no,  better  use  one  of  those  cotton  overalls,  Mrs.  Gisburn — 
whenever  you  come  in;  and  keep  it  hung  up  here.  ...  If 
you  do  that,  there's  really  very  little  risk,  it's  very  rare 
in  adults.  I  suppose  Jim  and  the  girls  have  all  had  it?" 

"Yea !  years  agone,  doctor." 

"We  have  just  had  a  big  epidemic  of  measles,  Mr.  Clinton, 
and  I  think  every  child  in  the  district  has  had  the  disease. 
There  is  practically  none  who  has  not  had  it.  ...  Oh  no, 
only  two  deaths,  quite  mild,  extraordinarily  mild.  .  .  .  Yes, 
it  is  annoying,  at  your  age ;  it's  quite  rare  in  adults."  "Oh ! 
you  were  in  Manchester?  Well,  they  have  it  there,  too. 
Yes  .  .  .  incubation  may  be  quicker  in  the  adult,  I  can't 
say." 

So  Kirk  lay  in  bed  for  several  days,  and  listened  each 
evening  to  the  hawker's  melancholy  bell.  All  night,  at  in- 
tervals, he  heard  the  massive  "lurry's"  with  their  loads  of 
woven  wool  or  cotton  grind  pass  over  the  setted  roads,  to 
the  measured  hoof-tramp  of  big  horses.  Very  early  each 
morning  he  heard  Jim  and  the  girls  astir ;  he  listened  to  them 
go  down  from  their  bedrooms.  He  heard  the  innumerable 
warning  steam  hooters  and  horns  of  the  mills,  echoing  in 


THE    BORN    FOOL  217 

the  cold  black  valleys  at  half-past  five,  and  he  listened  to  the 
harsh  crescendo  of  hurrying  clog-shod  feet,  outside,  and 
heard  them  joined  at  a  quarter  to  six  by  the  light  footsteps 
of  Marian  and  Dinah. 

He  sent  out  for  cheap  paper-back  novels  and  novelettes 
that  could  be  burnt,  and  made  acquaintance  for  the  first 
time  with  some  of  the  most  widely  popular  authors  of  his 
own  immediate  day.  He  found  the  girls  of  this  work-a-day 
village  took  pleasure  in  a  profusion  of  shoddy  dukes,  colonels, 
viscounts  and  titled  ladies ;  and  many  Hughs ;  while  through 
the  pages  wandered  or  strode  the  strong-ever-upright  and 
frequent  Richard;  and  hard  hearted  villains  schemed  the 
horrible  seductions  of  Gwennies  and  Veras,  who  were  ever 
much-put-upon  by  cold  and  dashing  high-bred  dames  and 
girls. 

Kirk  tried  book  after  book.  His  extravagance  distressed 
Mrs.  Gisburn,  and  the  news  went  forth  from  the  little  sta- 
tioner's shop,  that  "This  Mesther  Clenton's  a  fair  etter  o' 
books!" 

On  the  fifth  evening,  near  six  o'clock,  and  while  sitting 
in  a  chair,  he  heard  the  girls  and  Jim  come  in.  He  listened 
to  them  drop  off  their  clogs  on  the  oilcloth  of  the  large  sit- 
ting-room, he  knew  they  were  putting  on  their  slippers,  and 
immediately  after  he  heard  all  three  come  slowly  up  the 
stairs.  Their  bedroom  doors  closed  behind  them.  He  con- 
jectured idly  that  the  girls  were  brushing  their  hair,  and  Jim 
was  washing.  Presently  he  thought  he  had  heard  all  three 
go  downstairs,  and  then  unexpectedly  some  one  tapped  on  his 
door. 

"Come  in,  Mrs.  Gisburn!" 

But  Marian  came  in,  a  little  way;  then  stood  a  moment, 
confused,  blushing  deeply,  but  smiling. 

".  .  .  I've  brought  you  this,"  said  she,  holding  out  some- 
thing in  a  piece  of  tissue  paper.  "I've  cut  it  in  two  for  you." 

Kirk  stood  up,  courteously  made  a  step  forward,  and 
smiled  as  he  took  the  proffered  object. 


218  THE    BOKST   FOOL 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Butterworth,  very  much  indeed." 

Marian,  very  self-conscious,  at  once  abruptly  turned  and 
left  the  room.  She  shut  the  door  quickly  behind  herself. 
Her  heart  beat  loudly  as  she  went  downstairs. 

She  had  brought  him  an  "Eccles  Cake."  It  was  a  flat  bun- 
like  comestible,  made  of  hard  flaky  paste.  It  contained  a 
thick  matted  layer  of  currants.  In  the  estimation  of  Marian 
it  was  one  of  the  greatest  delicacies  one  could  enjoy.  Kirk 
smiled  to  himself,  he  was  much  amused,  but  also  rather 
touched  by  the  kindness  of  the  act. 

"But  how  exceedingly  indigestible !"  thought  he. 

He  sat  down  again  and  conjured  up  her  form  and  ap- 
pearance. He  liked  the  rich  pale  hair,  drawn  smoothly  back 
from  the  temples,  and  over — it  seemed  to  him — her  devoutly 
rounded  head.  That  pale  golden  hair,  coiled  neatly  in  a  big 
mass  at  the  back  of  her  neck  gave  the  look  of  youth;  that 
smooth  full  head  gave  the  look  of  devotion — but,  thought  he, 
how  oddly  out  of  keeping  with  this  was  the  heavy  fringe, 
combed  over  the  forehead! 

"Yes,  she  has  clear  kind  eyes;  they  were  bluish.  ...  1 
do  wish  she  would  not  wear  that  fringe."  He  dismissed 
an  idea  that  her  lower  face  was  heavy.  .  .  .  "Oh  no" — 
mused  he — "that  was  caused  by  the  lamp  on  the  little  table, 
the  light  being  lower  than  her  face." 

"She  ought  not  to  have  come  in  here,  it  was  very  care- 
less, and  very  kind,  and  funny."  ...  "I  shall  have  to  eat  it 
a  bit  at  a  time."  ...  "I  suspect  she  did  this  without  the 
knowledge  of  her  stepmother.  .  .  ." 

Kirk  smiled  to  himself.  He  would  tell  the  Lucys  of  this 
incident  when  next  he  wrote. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

ON  the  morning  of  his  recovery  Kirk  set  off  for  the 
works.  To-day  for  once  the  land  was  not  mistily  hid- 
den but  lay  absolutely  bare  to  the  view.  As  he  walked  he 
looked  across  a  confluence  of  deep  valleys.  Long  hills,  dark 
of  hue,  devoid  of  tree  or  hedge,  filled  almost  all  the  land- 
scape. They  rose  at  first  steeply  from  the  winding  valleys, 
then  went  upward  slower,  and  were  capped  by  horizontal 
pikes  and  tors.  In  the  ravine-like  valleys  and  the  deep  side- 
cloughs  were  the  black  stone-built  mills,  the  strong  dingy 
houses,  the  winding  railways,  the  countless  narrow  sky-re- 
flecting reservoirs,  the  scanty  sooted  trees,  and  the  hurrying 
polluted  waters  of  the  hills.  The  tops  of  tall  chimneys  or 
the  smoke  from  them  alone  marked  many  an  industrial 
group.  Southward,  the  greater  valley  opened  far  away  into 
flatter  land,  studded  with  a  distant  forest  of  big  chimneys, 
overhung  and  shadowed  by  strata  of  sombre  smoke. 

Turning  from  this,  Kirk  looked  away  across  the  immense 
valley  beneath  him,  and  from  left  to  right.  "To  reproduce 
the  hue  of  all  the  lower  slopes,"  thought  Kirk,  "one  would 
use  that  crude  green  bice,  a  little  pure  black,  and  much  raw 
umber — twenty  square  miles  of  cold,  bleached,  dirtied,  black- 
ish-green expanse  in  sight  at  once!"  .  .  .  "and  almost  every 
mile  of  it  close  netted  with  black  stone  walls!"  Above  this 
came  the  moorland.  "Add  burnt  umber  and  more  black, 
and  you  have  the  colour  of  the  moorland" — thought  Kirk. 
But  on  the  summits  lay  long  horizontal  lines  of  pure-white 
snow.  The  skies  all  round  for  some  little  height  above  the 
hills  showed  a  murkiness  new  to  the  eyes  of  Kirk.  The 
edges  of  the  distant  plateaux  were  eaten  into  by  many  quar- 

219 


220  THE    BORN    FOOL 

ries.  Moving  puffs  of  white  steam  told  the  observer  of  the 
distant  busy  cranes  and  little  locomotives  away  across  there 
on  the  hill-sides.  Enormous  screes  of  waste  stone,  blackish- 
yellow,  could  be  descried  tailing  down  from  the  working- 
level  of  these  great  quarries.  Such  scenery  depressed  Kirk 
far  more  than  it  would  one  having  but  an  ordinary  love 
of  nature.  To  Kirk  there  seemed  no  escape — for  he  could 
see  the  whole  land.  There  could  be  no  discoveries  of  sweeter 
hidden  places. 

"This  is  a  young  civilisation,  full  of  energy,  full  of  new- 
ness, devoid  of  all  ancient  thought,  learning,  manners,  har- 
mony," thought  Kirk,  and  he  recollected  that  the  ancient 
dying  Cambria  included  this  land  he  looked  at. 

"After  that  ended,  there  was  nothing,  until  life  began 
again  only  two  hundred  years  ago !" — thought  he. 

He  went  down  into  the  valley-bottom,  entering  a  road  that 
crossed  the  river.  A  few  girls,  their  heads  shawl-covered, 
were  coming  towards  him  from  a  mill.  He  halted  on  the 
bridge,  looked  across  at  his  new  works,  and  then  glanced 
down  at  the  river.  A  few  large  bushes  overhung  the  banks 
and  he  noticed  their  lower  branches  were  all  festooned  with 
long  filthy  rags,  with  things  like  bandages,  and  with  lumps 
of  oily  cotton  waste.  These  objects  marked  the  level  of  the 
last  flood.  The  dirty  water  that  rushed  through  a  wide 
bed  of  loose  stones  exhaled  a  strong  sickly  smell  of  dye- 
vats,  and  showed  a  tarry  iridescence.  At  this  moment  Kirk 
felt  some  one  pinch  his  calf!  He  turned  quickly  and  two 
young  girls  stood  back  a  pace  and  boldly  looked  at  him  from 
head  to  foot — with  a  most  frank  and  kindly  curiosity.  Then 
one  of  them  spoke  slowly. 

<{Ee,  lad!  anna  thee  cowd  i'  them  things?" 

"Do  you  mean  cold  ?"  asked  Kirk,  much  amused. 

"Yi!  cowd!  .  .  .'corld,'  if  thee  likes!"— and  Kirk,  smil- 
ing, replied  innocently — 

"Oh,  no,  puttees  are  much  warmer  than  your  things." 

"Tha's  never  seen  them,  yoong  fella !"  quickly  cried  one, 


THE    BORN   FOOL  221 

laughing  as  they  went  away,  and  turning  round  to  look  at 
him  the  other  shouted,  "Tha'd  lake  to!  ar'll  bet!" 
"Good  heavens!"  said  Kirk,  somewhat  taken  aback. 

This  was  the  last  fine  day  for  weeks.  The  low  continuous 
canopy  of  heavy  cloud  remained  unbroken.  One  seldom  saw 
the  pikes.  A  dark  shadow  clung  day  by  day  to  the  slopes 
and  moorlands  where  they  went  up  into  the  ever-moving 
clouds.  It  was  too  wet  for  outdoor  work.  Kirk's  navvies 
made  but  three  or  four  short  days  of  earning  in  a  week. 
Men  came  and  asked  for  their  wages,  and  left  the  works, 
seeking  other  places  where  the  ground  would  not  be  all  deep 
mud  and  sodden  heavy  clay,  where  there  would  be  less  rain, 
mist,  sleet,  ferocious  wind  and  storm.  Kirk  daily  spent 
hours  in  his  rude  office  in  the  damp  cottages.  So  much  cla^ 
and  earth  had  been  tipped  around  them  that  now,  from  the 
windows,  his  eyes  looked  out  on  a  level  with  the  lumps  of 
boulder-clay,  that  were  liquefying  beneath  the  rapid  sequence 
of  rain,  sleet,  dense  mist,  a  few  foggy  hours  of  frost,  and 
rain  again. 

Finding  leisure,  he  worked  on  his  Cirenhampton  thesis 
until  want  of  data  caused  him  to  desist.  In  company  with 
Aikrigg,  who  proposed  it,  Kirk  went  through  several  large 
woollen  mills,  one  cotton-mill,  a  print-works,  a  dye-works, 
and  a  velvet-mill,  all  near  Bruside.  The  striking  complex 
and  genius,  of  highly  organised  machinery,  evolved  through 
generations,  the  great  extent,  the  roar  and  trembling  of  it, 
gave  food  for  thought.  But  the  human  life  held  imprisoned 
in  the  hot  and  foul  air,  in  the  smells  and  the  tumult  of 
roar — all  these  toiling  girls  and  women,  these  pale  half- 
naked  spinners,  these  hurrying  grease-bespattered  children — • 
impressed  him  most  painfully  and  profoundly  with  a  sense 
of  utter  wrongness. 

"It's  brackley*  weather  for  ye,  Mr.  Clinton,"  said  Mrs. 
Gisburn,  many  times  in  those  weeks. 

*  Broken. 


222  THE    BOKN   FOOL 

"But  it's  noblut  brackley  weather  up  here  i'  winter/' 
said  Jim,  laughing.  "Farmer  Ormerod  as  lives  up  o'  top, 
he  says  it's  nine  months  o'  winter  and  three  months  o'  cowd 
weather,  i'  Bruside  parts,  an'  he's  nigh  reet !" 

Jim  persuaded  Kirk  to  take  a  long  walk  with  him  on 
Saturday,  despite  the  weather.  They  walked  for  miles  up 
the  deep  and  narrow  winding  valley;  always  on  flagstones, 
and  nearly  always  between  the  same  kind  of  bare  stone 
houses;  and  they  passed  mill  after  mill — gigantic  six  or 
seven-storey  blocks  overhanging  the  stone-setted  road.  Steam 
trams,  jolting  and  rocking,  trailing  whiffs  of  sulphurous 
smoke  and  steam,  overtook  them  or  met  them.  To-day  one 
saw  the  black  mud  full  of  oil  and  grease  that  half  filled  the 
reservoirs;  for  on  Saturday,  as  Jim  explained,  "every  mill 
runs  th'  lodge  off  to  clean  th'  mood  out." 

"  'Lodge  ?'    Why,  Jim,  do  you  call  them  lodges  ?" 

"Why !  a'  suppose  because  the  watter  lodges  i'  them !" 

"What  a  horrible  smell  the  cleaning-out  process  does 
make!" 

"Does  it  ?"  asked  Jimmie,  sniffing  the  air.  "Now  a'  newa 
norticed  it  before!  but  tha't  right,  Mr.  Clinton;  I  guess  cur 
folk  gets  used  t'  onything!  .  .  .  Hast  read  'Merrie  Eng- 
land'?" 

"Yes,  while  I  had  the  measles ;  was  that  your  copy  ?  I'm 
afraid  I  burnt  it,  Jim." 

"NeVer  menshun  it!  t'  only  cost  a  bob.  Ar've  read  it. 
There's  soom  sense  in  it  ?" 

"It  impressed  me,  Jim;  it's  exceedingly  sad,  because  I'm 
not  sure  that  things  can  be  altered,  not  in  our  time." 

"Nay?  .  .  .  Look  o'  yon  mill-door!  ee!  and  on  th'  man- 
ager's door !  What's  yon  chalked  up,  Mr.  Clinton  ?" 

"Bead  'The  Clarion'!"  "Head  'Merrie  England'!"  said 
Kirk.  "Do  you  think,  Jim,  that  those  ideas  are  spreading  ?" 

"Ay  I  don't  say  so!  tha'  knows.  .  .  .  Look  a'  yon  fou 
smell  .  .  .  ar  newa  norticed  it!  not  till  thee  sed,  and  I'm 


THE    BORN"    FOOL  223 

not  as  rough  as  some,  nay,  as  most !  .  .  .  it's  our  girls  .  .  . 
a'  don't  like  them  going  to  mill.  But  we've  no  munney — 
nobbut  what  we  addles  wi'  ar  hands!  ...  If  a'd  geeten 
brass,  I'd  none  let  my  sisters  go  to  mill  .  .  .  tho'  they're 
well-off,  war  they  are.  Th'  best  lot  of  gurls  i'  valley  waves 
at  Sootcliffe's.*  They're  none  a  bit  like  yon  rough  wenches 
that  pinched  thee  leg  down  i'  Carrbottom,  Mr.  Clinton; 
Sootcliffe  'ull  not  tek  ony  lass  or  lad  as  coomes  along,  not 
i'  his  cotton-mill ;  and  our  gurl's  reet  glad  it  is  so." 

"So  am  I,  Jim." 

"There's  soom  sense  i'  'Merrie  England/  .  .  .  Tho'  it'll 
coom  to  nobbut  wind-a-watter  .  .  .  i'  these  parts.  Th'  Or- 
ganist at  Hepthwaite,  Mr.  Martineau,  told  me  years  sin  I 
wur  a-bit-ov-a-philosopher,  an'  a'  rekkon  a'  am  that!  .  .  . 
Ar've  read  soom !  But  a'  thinks  nowt  o'  yon  shoutin  I.L.P. 
— That  lot's  never  done  a  day's  wark  i'  their  lives.  They'll 
coot  down  th'  hard  warker,  and  rerse  oop  t'lerzy  t'  share  his 
meat  and  wage  .  .  .  tha'll  see  it  i'  thy  life,  Mr.  Clinton. 
Ton's  what'll  happen  .  .  .  mayhap  ..." 

All  the  people  stared  hard  at  Kirk.  Rough  children 
shouted  loudly  into  open  doorways — to  other  youngsters, — 
"Ee !  coom-a-look-a-yon-felly ! !"  "Sithee !  yon  mon's  f oony 
ligs!!" 

"It  seems  to  me  we  could  return  across  the  moors,  Jim, 
and  get  out  of  this  shut-in  trough?  and  all  these  personal 
attentions  ?" 

"Currect !  Then  we'd  better  get-a-agate  now,  up  Maden's 
cable-road,  but  it's  proper  windy  and  wild,  ovver  th'  tops!" 

"Oh !    I  shall  like  that !    Don't  you  prefer  it,  Jim  ?" 

"It's  livelier  i'  the  bottoms  than  on  th'  hills,  but  tha'll  see." 

It  was  a  long  climb  up,  but  here  the  air  was  fresh,  and  the 
wind  whistled  through  the  loose  black  walls.  Stiles  there  were 
none.  Strong  slabs  projected  like  steps  from  the  walls.  One 
stepped  up  the  slabs,  stood  on  the  wall,  and  walked  down  the 
other  side.  A  few  stone-chats,  flitting  from  heap  to  heap  in 
*  Waves  =  weaves. 


224  THE   BORN   FOOL 

the  immense  stony  waste  of  old  quarries,  were  seen  by  Kirk 
as  he  ascended. 

Then  he  and  Jim  crossed  some  miles  of  black  moor,  grown 
thickly  with  deep  ling,  but  so  black  and  sooty  was  it  that 
Kirk's  khaki  puttees  were  soon  soiled  to  the  knees.  A  few 
frightened  pipits  flew  up  cheeping  shrilly,  and  were  carried 
away  by  the  fierce  wind  that  rushed  on  unchecked  over  the 
sea  of  black  hills.  The  sky,  as  usual,  was  wholly  grey.  Kirk 
and  Jim  neared  the  snow  that  lay  in  a  wide  curve  behind  the 
north  face  of  one  of  those  long-backed  pikes— and.Kirk  found 
with  regret  that  even  this  was  not  as  he  had  thought ;  for  the 
deep  snow  was  grimed  thick  with  a  sooty  crust — from  smoke 
carried  sixteen  hundred  feet  above  the  valleys.  To  himself 
he  was  thinking,  "All  is  defaced,  all  is  disfigured  by  mankind, 
everything  is  spoilt ;  how  am  I  to  live  here  ?" 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

WHAT  was  the  cause  direct  of  his  disturbance  ?  Why 
should  he  experience  this  serious  repugnance  to  his 
work  in  life  ?  Why  feel  so  deep  a  pity  for  these  people  ?  Why 
no  longer  was  he  happy  ?  Why  should  he  feel  the  sustenance 
of  his  soul  cut  off  ?  The  answer  seemed  to  be : — his  dreams, 
mostly  his  dreams ;  and  add  to  those  his  youth,  his  tempera- 
ment, his  fate. 

From  childhood  he  had  avoided  that  unbroken  intercourse 
with  human  beings,  so  needful  to  the  great  majority.  Every 
hour  and  day  in  which  he  could  escape  material  life  he  had 
spent  in  reading  no  ordinary  books.  He  had  nurtured  a  great 
passion  for  the  out-of-doors.  He  had  strongly  fostered  and 
created  round  his  soul  and  mind,  as  it  were  a  vast  nimbua 
of  vivid-lighted  thought — concerned  but  little  with  material 
man — a  coloured  aura  of  dreams  and  lovely  sounds.  In  this 
he  lived. 

He  had  for  years  bathed  himself  in  the  pure  silences  and 
rustlings  of  the  grass  and  wind.  For  hours,  lying  in  places 
silent  and  removed,  he  had  gazed  vertically  into  that  blue 
nothingness  that  lies  beyond  transparent  summer  clouds,  seek- 
ing and  seeking  to  realise  the  mystery  of  space.  There,  too, 
he  had  absorbed  the  "Earthly  Paradise,"  and  gathered  fas- 
tidiously, only  where  he  willed,  among  the  verse  of  Burns 
and  Herrick,  Keats  and  Shelley,  Hafiz  and  Schiller,  Cole- 
ridge, Chaucer  and  the  old  Reliques  of  Percy — many  poets ; 
and  he  had  pondered  like  a  seer  himself,  over  the  transcendent 
noble  thought  of  Emerson. 

He  had  for  years  gone  forth  into  the  fields  at  evening,  to 
breathe-in  the  first  perfume  of  the  woods,  the  earliest  incense 

225 


226  THE   BORN   FOOL 

of  the  hawthorn  bloom.  He  went  forth  to  stand  and  dream 
in  places  become  sacred  by  his  own  thoughts,  to  look  and  look 
into  sunsets,  to  kneel  with  shut  eyes,  and  let  the  last  bliss  of 
the  descending  lark  possess  his  soul, — and  tears,  sometimes, 
had  filled  his  eyes;  so  touching,  so  inexpressible,  were  these 
miracles.  And,  as  his  power  increased  of  living  solely  in 
beauty  and  the  spirit,  came  a  strong  aspiration  that  he  might 
receive  the  gift  of  Richard  Jefferies. 

It  seemed  the  poet  and  himself  alone  had  ever  known  this 
secret  ravishment ;  they  two  alone  of  all  spirits  had  ever  had 
this  power  of  transmutation  of  the  consciousness,  so  that,  at 
times,  they  could  slip  from  and  escape  the  human,  be  drawn 
within  Nature,  and  live  her  wondrous  raptures,  even  in  dews 
and  fragrances,  in  light  caught  trembling  in  the  cups  of  glow- 
ing golden  flowers. 

Imaginatively,  Kirk  had  often  felt  near  him  with  intense 
love,  the  very  spirit  of  that  elder  brother,  whom  he  had  known 
but  through  his  written  words ;  and,  silently,  he  had  adjured 
him,  while  in  his  own  country  side : — 

' 'Speak  again!  through  me!  inspire  me!  and  I  will  write 
that  which  you  began  to  know." 

At  Cirenhampton  all  these  feelings  had  reached  a  climax. 
Driven  on  as  it  were,  he  had  tried  to  write  of  these  entrance- 
ments,  always  as  he  wrote  excluding  even  the  faintest  refer- 
ence to  material  life,  and  always  he  finished  in  dejection. 
Yet  he  had  filled  many  little  pencilled  booka  with  curious 
thought 

But  now,  the  crude  realities  of  northern  life,  the  darkness 
of  human  impotence,  the  awakening  of  sex,  began  to  strike 
into  his  beauteous  fabric  with  heavy  shafts  of  black  and  red. 

The  departure  and  separation  from  the  South  weighed  upon 
him  like  a  heavy  grief,  seldom  remitting.  From  this  uncom- 
mon state  of  mind  he  viewed  this  new  land  and  life  and  peo- 
ple. He  judged  them  solely  by  his  own  feelings,  not  seeing 
that  they  felt  no  bitter  cold,  as  did  he.  They  missed  no  sun- 


THE   BORN   FOOL  227 

shine.  Rain  and  cloud  unbroken  were  unnoticed  of  them. 
The  black,  bleak,  and  wild  naked  landscape  sent  no  chill 
to  their  souls.  From  infancy,  they  had  seen  no  other.  He 
judged  these  people,  and  felt  a  great  pity  for  them,  unknow- 
ing that  what  was  to  almost  all  of  them  but  natural  irksome- 
ness,  hard  work,  necessity  unavoidable,  a  second  nature,  ap- 
peared to  himself  severe,  hard,  cruelly  toilsome,  utterly  soul- 
destroying,  terrible. 

That  evening  in  his  bedroom  he  picked  up  a  long  letter 
unfinished,  written  to  Mary.  In  his  own  words  he  found  a 
painful  interest.  How  vividly  true  were  they!  Mary  had 
asked  him  to  describe  Bruside. 

"All  night  the  heavy  lorries  carrying  loads  that  weigh  up 
to  seven,  tons  strain  up  the  rising  street  of  Bruside,  over  the 
setted  road,  between  the  silent  houses.  Fine  heavy  horses — 
better  cared  for  than  the  human  beings — pull  together  steadily 
in  fours  and  sixes  without  sound  of  whip  or  voice ;  the  house 
trembles  with  the  vibration  of  the  heavy  wheels,  as  though 
siege  guns  were  passing  through  at  night  in  time  of  war. 
These  great  loads,  Mary,  are  the  woven  cloth,  the  spun  wool 
and  cotton,  the  finished  day's  work  of  many,  many,  many 
wearied  men  and  women,  and  the  loads  were  all  going  to  Man- 
chester, thirty-two  miles  away.  When  I  heard  the  first  foot- 
falls of  the  work-people  pass  at  five  o'clock  yesterday  morn- 
ing, I  got  out  of  bed  and  looked.  The  moon  was  shining  and 
setting  in  the  West,  and  seemed  to  fill  the  stony  street  with 
a  cold  bright  light,  and  the  wind  sighed  in  the  crowded  tele- 
graph wires.  At  five  o'clock,  and  again  at  five-thirty,  a  hun- 
dred waiting  mills  from  near  and  far  gave  tongue  through 
their  steam  hooters,  blaring  their  relentless  summons: — 

"  'Get  up !  Get  ready !  Morning  again !  There  is  no  es- 
cape !  The  day's  toil  starts  for  you !' — 

"And  yet  the  sky  was  all  stars  and  night-smoke. 

"The  number  of  people  going  to  work  steadily  increased 
in  volume.  This  was  the  infantry  of  commerce;  battalions, 
regiments,  brigades,  passing  to  the  fighting  line. 


228  THE    BOKN   FOOL 

"All  these  people  wore  wooden  iron-shod  clogs.  TKey 
tramped  along  the  flagged  pavements  or  ran  on  the  hard  stone- 
paved  road.  Women  and  girls  nearly  all  had  their  heads 
shrouded  in  grey  and  Hack  shawls;  a  few  girls  wore  straw 
sailor-hats,  and  all  carried  food  in  little  baskets,  handker- 
chiefs, or  oval  tin  boxes.  I  watched  them  in  the  moonlight, 
till  I  shivered  with  cold.  I  see  now  why  they  are  Socialists. 
For  half  an  hour  the  hollow  street  of  stone  houses,  stone  flag 
fences,  and  stone  underfoot,  echoed  with  the  clatter  of  the 
clogs.  Long  strides  of  men ;  quicker,  shorter,  lighter  steps  of 
women,  girls  and  children.  At  last  the  wide  foot-paths  were 
insufficient,  and  the  roadway  was  half-filled  with  hurrying 
human  heings — from  whom  broke  scarce  a  word,  and  no 
laughter.  One  hundred  were  going  to  that  mill,  three  hun- 
dred to  that,  a  thousand  to  that  big  one  lit  up  inside  with 
countless  lights. 

"And  now  many  began  to  run  as  the  stream  thinned 
rapidly,  the  hooters  blared  again,  and  filled  all  the  night- 
covered  valleys  with  their  echoes,  that  died  away  at  last  over 
the  black  moors;  and  then  the  street  suddenly  fell  silent. 
Steam  was  fully  up. 

"Thickset  overlookers  and  managers  count  the  last  men, 
women,  girls  and  children  as  they  pass  through  the  narrow 
picket-door,  into  the  brilliant  artificial  light,  and  into  the  ex- 
ceedingly hot  atmosphere  that  smells,  Mary,  of  grease,  cot- 
ton, fermented  size,  unbathed  human  bodies,  and  clothes 
spotted  with  oil.  .  .  .  For  who  of  these,  Mary,  has  time, 
energy  and  opportunity  to  bathe  all  over,  between  four  and 
five  each  wintry  morning?  And  who  can  wear  fresh  clothes 
each  day  ? 

"The  roving-frame  girls,  the  carders  and  spinners,  go  to 
their  eighty-degree  rooms.  The  overlookers  stand  there  to 
check  and  number,  nearly  all  are  in  their  places ;  scowls  and 
roughest  abuse  are  often  given  to  those  who  are  late.  The 
hands  of  the  clock  have  come  to  the  hour  of  six.  The  engine- 
drivers  in  a  thousand  mills  are  pulling  over  their  levers.  The 


THE    BORN   FOOL  229 

mighty  humming  of  the  West  Eiding  re-commences.  At  this 
moment  in  the  enormous  and  almost  silent  weaving  sheds, 
fifty  shuttles  begin  flying  swiftly,  then  with  a  crescendo  of 
roar  the  rest  join  in,  the  'heels'  go  up  and  down,  the  web 
parts  and  shuts  for  the  speeding  steel  and  boxwood,  the  'pick- 
ers' deftly  catch  and  throw,  the  'sled'  swings  in  rapid  har- 
mony, the  weavers  stoop  and  walk  and  turn  between  their 
looms.  So  great  is  the  noise,  Mary,  that  shout  your  loudest 
and  it  will  carry  not  three  feet !  and  when  you  emerge  after 
but  a  few  minutes  in  this  uproar,  you  will  be  unable  for  hours 
to  rid  your  ears  of  the  tumult  in  them;  but  these  people 
spend  their  childhood  in  it,  and  they  grow  up  and  grow  old 
in  it. 

"The  race  is  small  of  stature,  and  grows  smaller. 

"Three  quarters  of  the  elderly  weavers  look  moderately 
well ;  the  other  quarter  look  deathly,  both  physically  and  men- 
tally. The  former  are  the  non-ideal  folk,  those  who  are  not 
imaginative.  The  emotional  and  imaginative  are  those  who 
first  go  under,  they  are  unfitted  for  the  heavy  toil.  They  are 
unfitted  to  endure  the  noise  and  the  monotony — in  two  and  a 
half  hours  one  has  only  come  to  half-past  eight  in  the  morn- 
ing— they  cannot  endure  the  long  standing,  the  close  confine- 
ment, the  heat.  In  severest  frost  it  is  hot  inside  the  mill — • 
they  fade  and  wither  in  the  greasy  dust,  the  lack  of  air,  the 
ten-hour  day,  in  reality  the  day  of  thirteen  hours:  for,  you 
see,  Mary,  that  they  are  really  occupied  with  thought  of  toil 
from  five  in  the  morning  till  six  o'clock  at  night.  Oh,  Mary 
dear,  you  don't  know  how  utterly  heart-rending  it  is  at  times, 
to  me — to  look  on  at  this,  and  its  effects,  especially  on  the 
poor  girls ;  and  some  are  still  so  pretty  and  pure.  It  is  ruin- 
ing our  race,  here.  Nearly  all  the  girls  get  varicose  veins  by 
the  time  they  are  twenty-six  or  so. 

"God  help  the  naturally  idle,  the  unhandy,  until  they  are 
cured.  But  God  indeed  help  the  ideally  pure-minded,  for 
there  are  some  here.  They  daily  hear  obscenity,  they  are  bul- 
lied by  overseers,  sometimes  until  they  commit  suicide,  so  I 


230  THE    BOKN    FOOL 

am  told;  and  even  their  modesty  has  not  been  considered, 
about  here,  by  those  who  built  the  mills  I  have  been  into ;  for 
ranges  of  conveniences  for  the  girls  and  women  stand  ex- 
posed closely  to  the  gaze  of  men." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

WITH  this  family  Kirk  lived  very  formally.  He  treat- 
ed these  young  women  courteously,  reservedly,  re- 
spectfully,— as  markedly  separate  beings  from  himself — but 
yet  with  much  unconscious  sympathy  and  intuition,  just  as 
he  treated  all  women.  The  novelty  of  the  present  position  ap- 
pealed to  his  youthful  curiosity  for  event. 

Soon  they  had  asked  him  to  use  their  Christian  names  to 
avoid  the  excessive  repetition  of  "Miss  Butterworth,"  and, 
after  the  first  shy  hesitation,  he  grew  used  to  it.  But  they 
addressed  him  by  his  surname ;  to  them  he  was  still  Mr.  Clin- 
ton, or  "he." 

When  at  last  he  noticed  the  old  lady  habitually  gave  him- 
self and  Jim  every  bon  bouche  of  the  dishes,  he  objected  po- 
litely and  with  secret  amusement,  but  without  avail.  He 
waited  several  days ;  then  by  a  personal,  sudden  and  decisive 
order  to  Ruth  he  had  the  joint  put  opposite  himself. 

"Mrs.  Gisburn,"  firmly  remarked  Kirk,  with  a  keen  eye 
upon  her  as  he  stood  up  to  carve,  "I  cannot  let  you  carve  any 
more  while  I  sit  and  look  on :  I  always  .carved  for  my  mother 
when  the  occasion  arose, — when  my  father  and  my  elder 
brother  were  absent — and  I  know  you  will  always  let  me  do 
so  here,  in  the  future;  and  I  presume  you,  Jim,  have  no 
objection  ?" 

"Nay !  ar've  no  objection,  Mr.  Clinton,"  quickly  said  Jim, 
concealing  his  delight. 

A  little  flattered,  and  for  once  in  her  life  undecided,  Mrs. 
Gisburn  began  to  speak,  but  Kirk  broke  in  calmly, 

"So  we  will  do  it  to-day,  and  to-morrow,  Ruth,  and  in  the 

231 


232  THE    BORN    FOOL 

future  your  mother  wishes  you  always  to  put  the  meat  be- 
fore me." 

Mrs.  Gisburn,  nonplussed,  glanced  with  disapproval  round 
the  table.  Jim,  and  Dinah  whom  he  had  pinched  quietly,  hid 
their  mirth,  Marian  was  smiling  slightly,  thinking  that  Kirk 
did  not  know  her  stepmother ;  and  Kirk  and  Ruth  were  quite 
grave.  But  Mrs.  Gisburn  had  given  way,  and  later  Marian 
exclaimed  to  Kirk, 

"It's  the  first  time,  Mr.  Clinton,  since  the  world  began !" 

Kirk  carved  in  future,  dealing  forth  the  viands  with  a  fine 
discriminating  fairness  under  those  pairs  of  eyes  that  closely 
watched  each  portion. 

The  same  evening  Ruth  asked  him  to  read  them  something 
from  his  books.  Marian  had  persuaded  Ruth  to  this  re- 
quest. "You  ask  him,  Ruth,  he  likes  you  best,  I'd  love  to 
hear  him  read  like  he  talks  .  .  .  isn't  his  voice  sweet  ?" 

Nothing  loth,  indeed  very  pleased,  and  glad  to  see  the 
girls  allowed  for  once  to  sit  and  rest  a  brief  space  before  their 
early  bed-time,  Kirk  went  into  the  best  sitting-room,  and 
there  selected  from  his  rows  of  books  a  Tennyson.  As  he 
turned  over  the  leaves  his  eyes  lit  on  the  words  "Enoch  and 
Annie,  sitting  hand  in  hand."  He  stood  a  moment,  held  by 
some  inarticulate  thought.  Then,  in  more  material  mood,  he 
said,  "Enoch  with  Annie,  sitting  hand  in  hand !"  His  mother 
had  read  this  poem  to  him,  sitting  near  the  sea  at  Abermawr 
the  summer  before  she  died.  He  knew  that  he  inherited  her 
powers  of  voice.  With  finger  in  the  book  he  returned  to  the 
living  room.  He  sat  down  in  a  chair  placed  ready  for  him  in 
the  family  circle  round  the  fire.  All  their  eyes  were  upon 
him.  He  paused,  and  then  began  to  read  Enoch  Arden  with 
a  new  interest,  a  new  insight  which  he  never  before  had  felt. 

Throughout  the  long  poem  he  was  more  conscious  of  Ruth 
and  Marian  than  the  others.  They  only,  thought  he,  will  ap- 
preciate and  feel. 

As  he  closed  the  book  he  saw  that  Jim  and  Dinah  had  not 


THE    BOKN    FOOL  233 

kept  awake,  and  that  their  faces  looked  worn  and  tired  even 
in  sleep.  Ruth,  Marian,  and  Mrs.  Gisburn  had  however  in- 
tently listened.  They  sat  still  and  silent  after  Kirk  finished 
the  poem.  Then  Marian  slowly  stood  up  and  said  in  a  low 
voice,  "Good  night,  mother" — and  went  upstairs.  Kirk  saw 
they  were  affected,  and,  also,  greatly  tired.  He  blamed  him- 
self for  keeping  them  up  till  so  late  an  hour.  The  looms  had 
been  run  all  the  week  at  top  speed  to  try  and  recover  in  ad- 
vance the  approaching  Christmas  Day,  the  meagre  cessation 
from  toil  which  this  old-time  glad  season  brought  to  these 
girls.  On  account  of  the  bad  weather  Kirk's  Bruside  works 
would  be  closed  a  week. 

As  this  first  Christmas  in  the  North  approached,  Kirk  be- 
came filled  with  a  great  overcoming  passion  like  that  of  the 
absent  lover,  again  to  see,  speak  with,  and  clasp  in  his  arms 
the  beloved. 

He  wrote  no  word  to  friend  or  relative,  made  the  journey 
to  the  South,  and  Christmas  Day  found  him  solitary  on  a 
Cirenhampton  heath. 

He  stood  once  more  entranced,  looking  with  deep  affection 
at  the  distant  downs,  at  the  dark  firs,  over  the  sea  of  brown 
bare  trees  even  now  reddening  to  the  coming  year.  The  im- 
mense beautiful  sky  was  open,  unsullied,  illimitable.  Bright 
sunlight  fell  on  the  preparing  gorse  bloom,  and  Kirk  knelt 
and  bent  forward  that  he  might  take  the  remembered  sweet- 
ness of  these  first  lowly  yellow  flowers.  And  then,  carried 
to  him  and  beyond  him,  on  the  ever-pure  beloved  air,  came 
one  faultless  delicious  fluting  of  a  blackbird,  so  trembling 
with  joy  unutterable,  that,  as  it  were,  the  most  ethereal  chords 
of  his  imagination  suddenly  were  swept  by  heavenly  music. 

But  coming  to  himself  his  soul  was  suddenly  wrenched 
against  his  will  back  to  that  daily  life  which  re-awaited  him, 
in  that  dark  sunless  northland,  in  the  befouled  ways  of  men 
to  which  he  must  return.  But  he  stood  up  and  thrust  it  all 
away. 


234  THE    BOKN   FOOL 

He  walked  on  towards  the  distant  downs,  where  sun-lit 
cloud-ranges,  seemingly  motionless,  approached  from  an  im- 
mensity of  distance. 

Full  of  calm  and  peace  he  returned  in  darkness  to  a  large 
old-fashioned  inn,  and  there  changed  his  clothes,  transferring 
his  notebook  into  the  pocket  of  his  dinner-jacket.  He  dined 
in  a  bright  room,  from  the  ceiling  of  which  hung  the  mistle- 
toe. A  faint  aromatic  smell  of  fir  and  yew  came  from  the 
evergreen  garlands  hung  above  the  doors  and  the  pictures. 
The  cheery  glow  from  a  huge  fireplace  trebled  the  redness  in 
the  polished  holly. 

After  dinner,  and  after  overcoming  a  considerable  shy- 
ness that  he  felt,  he  put  on  his  overcoat  and  soon  passed 
quickly  along  the  almost  silent  street,  lit  by  many  cosy, 
festive  windows.  He  left  the  town  behind  and  at  length  rang 
the  bell  under  the  ancient  portico  of  Cloud  Agnell. 

"Mr.  Clinton,  isn't  it,  Sir  ?"  said  "William,  admitting  him. 

"Yes.  ...  I  happened  to  be  in  Cirenhampton  this  even- 
ing. Have  you  any  one  here,  William?  Are  they  all  at 
home  ?  I  shall  not  come  in  if  you  have  guests." 

"No,  Sir,  there's  no  one  here  to-night,  except  young  Master 
Wilfred  home  from  school,  and  Miss  Beatrice.  I'll  take  your 
card  in,  Sir." 

"All  right." 

Mr.  Lucy  came  quickly  down  the  hall  exclaiming,  "My  dear 
Clinton !  Welcome !  We're  delighted !  And  a  Merry  Christ- 
mas !  Where  have  you  come  from  ?" 

In  the  drawing-room  Kirk  received  a  warm  welcome,  but 
was  much  upbraided  for  keeping  his  visit  to  himself. 

"Oh!  how  odd  men  are!  and  especially  you!"  said  Mrs. 
Lucy,  laughing  as  she  re-entered  the  room.  She  had  just 
hospitably  arranged  that  Kirk  should  sleep  beneath  her  roof ; 
and  without  consulting  him  she  had  sent  for  his  portmanteau, 
saying  to  the  groom — "Take  the  tub,  and  bring  all  his  things. 


THE    BORN    FOOL  235 

Tell  them,  from  me,  that  Mr.  Clinton  will  call  in  to-morrow." 

Presently  they  listened  to  Kirk's  description  of  his  new 
environment  and  asked  him  many  questions;  and  at  last  he 
told  them  how  it  oppressed  him,  and  how  he  could  not  resist 
rushing  to  the  South. 

"But  it  is  the  place  to  make  money  in,"  said  Mr.  Lucy, 
echoing  Brough's  words — "and  you  have  your  love  of  books, 
Clinton,  your  many  interests,  you  know,  to  relieve  you ;  .  .  . 
and  where  have  you  heen  to-day  ?" 

Kirk  told  them.  His  mention  of  Litchdown  led  Mr.  Lucy 
into  story  and  legend  of  the  hamlet ;  he  spoke  of  the  name — 

"  'Litch'  is  Saxon  and  means  a  grave  or  body,  thus  'Litchj 
down' — where  those  seven  barrows  are  that  you  saw  to-day. 
...  I  opened  one  of  them  for  Lord  Laymead,  but  we  found 
only  a  few  flints,  and  one  bronze  fibula ;  no  other  sign  of  any 
interment :  no  ashes,  no  bones." 

Mrs.  Lucy  believed  Kirk  loved  music  far  more  than  ar- 
cheology, and  she  turned  to  her  daughter — 

"Beata,  will  you  get  your  fiddle?  and  we'll  have  some 
music." 

"I  suppose  you've  not  heard  much  music  since  you  left  us, 
Mr.  Clinton?" 

"No  indeed,  only  one  man,  an  organist  at  a  parish  church 
some  miles  from  me,  who  plays  Heller. — I  should  love  some 
music !" 

"I  thought  you  would  .  .  .  really!  But  Heller?  How 
strange!  down  there." 

"Yes,  he  interprets  so  differently — even  the  quite  small 
and  simple  compositions — I  know  of  no  one  else  who  can  play 
Heller.  I  had  no  idea  before  that  Heller  was  great.  But 
this  man  who  plays  Heller  is  not  a  Yorkshireman.  His  name 
is  Martineau,  rather  French,  isn't  it? — he  is  very  bookish 
.  .  .  like  I  am,"  and  Kirk  smiled  at  his  hostess. 

"...  How  are  the  nature  notes  going  on,  Clinton  ?"  asked 
Mr.  Lucy,  with  a  remembered  interest. 

"I  haven't  done  much  more.  ...  I  could  hardly  write  a 


236  THE    BOKN    FOOL 

bit  to-day  .  .  .  and — to-night,  it  is  too  beautiful — here — 
after  being  away  so  long— but  I  shall  try  and  write  when  I 
get  back,  and  have  thought  of  it  all." 

"I  tell  him,  dear" — Mr.  Lucy  was  speaking  to  his  wife — 
"he  need  never  starve !  he  can  always  earn  his  living  with  his 
pen!" 

Kirk  longed  to  pull  out  his  little  book  and  read  them  his 
words  written  before  dinner,  but  he  was  too  shy,  it  seemed 
such  a  vanity;  and  perhaps  it  would  sound  all  silly  when 
read ;  and  besides,  Beatrice  prepared  to  play  to  them.  Mrs. 
Lucy  seated  at  the  piano  smoothed  the  pages  of  Debussy,  and 
Kirk  lay  back  luxuriously  in  his  chair. 

Beatrice,  now  a  girl  of  twenty,  was  indeed  very  pretty.  She 
and  Kirk  had  felt  always  at  ease  each  with  the  other,  and 
to-night,  before  her  music  carried  him  quite  away,  he  lay 
back  and  admired  her,  with  that  Quixotic,  reverent,  honour- 
able and  tender  feeling  ever  evoked  in  him  by  the  near  pres- 
ence of  pure,  beautiful  women.  She  was  a  tall  girl,  and  her 
rather  slight  form  was  very  graceful  and  virginal.  Youth, 
freshness  and  sweetness,  permeated  her  being  even  as  fra- 
grant scent  fills  the  air  round  the  earliest  violets.  When  she 
rested  her  cheek  against  the  violin  Kirk  watched  her,  and  he 
thought  impersonally,  as  an  artist  might  have  done,  of  how 
beautiful  she  would  be,  standing  affectionately  touching  her 
lover  when  he  came — for  surely  enough  he  would  come.  Her 
dark,  absorbed,  shining  eyes,  looking  down  towards  the  fire- 
light, the  almost  imperceptible  and  rhythmic  movement  of 
her  youthful  form,  her  passionately  sweet  music,  caused  Kirk 
to  lower  his  eyes,  and  exclaim  in  secret, — "Oh  God,  how 
spiritual  and  exquisite  are  thy  women !" 

In  this  same  mood,  he  looked  at  her  again,  and  their  eyes 
met. 

On  retiring,  he  sat  by  the  fire  in  his  great  Elizabethan  bed- 
room and  thought  of  Mr.  Lucy's  words — "He  can  always  earn 
his  living  with  his  pen." 

For  a  few  minutes  the  expression  filled  him  with  hope,  his 


THE    BORN    FOOL  23T 

dream  of  writing  had  been  present  with  him  all  day :  he  he- 
came  conscious  that  during  these  years  past  he  had  been  wait- 
ing for  and  expecting  some  kind  of  inspiration,  some  kind  of 
illumination  that  would  be  shed  upon  him.  He  became  aware 
that  these  strong  but  inarticulate  longings  were  always 
towards  something  in  the  future,  something  unfulfilled.  There 
seemed  to  be  some  great  barrier  along  which  he  had  always 
been  wandering — while  he  looked  beyond,  into  the  future, 
with  expectant  waiting  eyes.  Never  had  he  been  overcome 
by  so  great  a  repugnance  as  he  now  felt  towards  the  ordinary 
life  and  men,  towards  his  profession  and  the  coarseness  of 
engineering,  of  uncouth  human  beings,  of  talk  of  money,  of 
prices  of  concrete.  The  quiet  clean  earth  upturned,  befouled 
and  trodden ;  the  ugly  grimy  shapes  in  bricks  and  steel ;  the 
captive,  herd-like,  swinish,  pushing,  shoving  and  dirty 
jostling  and  running  to  and  fro  of  men — solely  to  get  food 
and  clothes  and  shelter — all  such  was  become  abhorrent  to 
him,  as  would  be  the  fouled  air  and  denizens  in  the  centre 
of  a  modern  city  to  one  of  those  who  dwelt  with  old  Cheiron, 
amid  the  mountain-woods  and  rocks  and  sparkling  falling 
waters  of  ancient  Pelion. 

Thinking  to-night,  Kirk  perceived  that  the  mass  of  human 
beings,  or,  rather,  of  men,  were  almost  submerged  and  were 
swimming  hard  for  dirty  little  life — in  this  glutinous  stream 
of  mud  and  sewage.  He  pictured  them  clambering  on  one 
another — here  and  there  one  filthy  little  human  crawling  on 
a  semi-buried  mass  of  his  struggling  fellows. — "That  one,  I 
suppose!" — apostrophised  he — "is  a  dirty,  dishonourable, 
cunning,  successful  politician  or  man  of  business!" — "And 
am  I  too  one  of  those  wretched  little  creatures?  Are  we 
steadily  becoming  a  race  of  social  blow-flies  and  carnivorous 
ants?" 

A  strange  dissatisfaction  with  his  beloved  goddess  Nature, 
a  grievous  gust  of  knowledge,  swept  through  him.  This  was 
the  knowledge  of  the  cruel  pitiless  strife  of  flowers  with 
flowers,  and  trees  with  trees. 


238  THE    BOKN    FOOL 

He  thought,  with  grief  and  revulsion,  of  that  hideous  prey- 
ing one  upon  the  other  of  fragile  insects,  and  dainty  liquid- 
eyed  birds. 

Ah !  .  .  .  for  all  these  years  it  had  been  hidden  from  him 
under  their  beauty  and  their  glamour.  He  stood  up  in  pain, 
wishing  passionately  that  he  had  lived  before  the  times  of 
Darwin — Nay !  Thousands  of  years  ago !  Yes,  it  seemed  as 
if  he  had  concealed  it  from  himself,  with  fear,  these  last  few 
years ;  but  it  was  true,  too  true — bitterly  thought  he.  Ah !  if 
one  could  leave  it  all,  all,  and  dwell  in  deep  pure  space. 

.  .  .  But  women  were  good.  .  .  .  Like  their  forms  and 
faces  they  were  wholly  finer  in  both  grace  and  texture — and 
so  incomparably  purer,  sweeter,  and  gentler,  gentler  and  more 
spiritual  than  man ! 

His  thoughts  returned  to  the  North.  Again  he  heard  the 
footsteps  going  down  the  staircase  in  the  winter  dark  and  cold, 
while  inside  the  house  the  arctic  draught  shrilled  and 
mourned  through  every  door  and  crevice,  and  outside,  the 
sleet  beat  fitfully  against  his  bedroom  window,  hurled  against 
it  by  the  bitter  wind  that  howled  through  the  mass  of  tele- 
graph wires,  shook  the  houses  by  its  savage  rush,  and  filled 
the  dark  road  with  driven  grit  and  fierce  piercing  eddies — the 
while  those  poor  girls  at  Bruside  should  still  have  remained 
for  hours  longer  in  their  beds.  Only  three  mornings  ago  he 
had  jumped  out  of  his  warm  coverings  and  caught  a  glimpse 
in  the  chill  moonlight,  of  Marian's  young  figure  closely  drawn 
about  with  her  dark  shawl,  as  fearful  of  being  late  she  hur- 
ried off  nervously  to  the  mill. 

In  two  months  Kirk  had  seen  something  of  that  horrible 
factory  life.  He  knew  now  the  existence  led  by  those  girls. 
He  had  lived  in  their  home  for  two  months.  After  reading 
Enoch  Arden  to  them,  that  night,  he  had  been  restless, 
unable  to  sleep  as  well  as  he  did  usually,  and  a  great  pity 
and  a  feverishness  to  help  them  grew  in  him.  Especially  did 
he  feel  pity  for  Marian,  for,  though  she  looked  robust,  he  di- 


THE    BOKN    FOOL  239 

vined  correctly  that  she  was  not,  and  further,  he  imagined 
she  felt  the  same  aversion  to  her  work  that  he  now  experi- 
enced to  his  own.  He  fancied  Marian  felt  her  position  more 
keenly  than  did  her  sisters.  "Yes,"  thought  he  again,  to- 
night, "she  is  more  emotional  and  more  sensitive  than  I  first 
thought.  Juxtaposition  with  those  coarse  over-lookers  and 
plebeian  men  must  daily  hurt  the  girl  to  the  heart." 

And  sitting  in  this  old  charming  fire-lit  bed-room,  in  the 
peace  and  warmth  of  this  choice  home  in  the  South,  Kirk 
vividly  recalled  those  dark  and  distant  hills,  the  roaring  of 
machinery,  the  smell  of  mills,  the  polluted  rivers,  the  ugli- 
ness, the  stunted  race,  the  toil  unceasing.  The  injustice  of 
these  differences  revolted  him.  Why  should  those  girls — and 
Marian  still  so  youthful,  so  unspoilt,  so  affectionate  and  pure 
— be  harassed  from  day  to  day,  from  year  to  year,  from  child- 
hood to  miserable  old  age,  to  get  a  hand-to-mouth  existence, 
while,  during  the  same  years,  Beatrice  was  born  into  this 
sweet  old  home  and  dear  cared-f or  life  ? 

While  he  was  thus  thinking  Beatrice,  partly  undressed  in 
her  own  room,  went  to  a  long  mirror  and  gazed  a  few  mo- 
ments at  her  own  reflection.  Then  she  changed  her  attitude — 
smiled  slightly — and  then  smiled  the  more  at  her  own  face 
and  smile.  But  growing  thoughtful  she  stood  motionless  and 
looked  down,  and  saw  her  own  pretty  feet.  She  was  think- 
ing : — "He  is  only  like  a  brother  .  .  .  that's  all  he  thinks  of 
poor  me!  ...  He's  not  cold;  but  oh  so  separate!  ...  I 
know  him  not  a  bit !  Nor  he  me !"  .  .  .  "Silly !"  said  she 
aloud  to  herself,  and  glanced  over  herself,  and  then  left  the 
mirror,  and  whistled  a  little  sad  refrain  diminuendo,  as  she 
moved  about. 


CHAPTEE  XXIX 

KIRK  spent  the  next  two  days  among  the  old  sand  and 
gravel  pits  round  Cirenhampton,  deciding  percentages 
of  different  flint,  stone,  and  quartzite  pebbles.  Very  early  on 
the  fourth  day  he  left  for  Cheltenham.  There  he  found  Ted 
looking  well  and  happy,  and  in  high  spirits.  Despite  refusal 
in  two  successive  years  Ted  now  had  won  the  day.  He  was 
newly  betrothed.  The  brothers  walked  to  "Mthsdale,"  the 
home  of  Ted's  fiancee,  and  there  spent  a  most  happy  time. 
Her  father,  Robert  Mackenzie,  was  a  bishop  or  "Angel"  in 
the  Apostolic  Church.  Born  at  Dundee  he  took  his  M.A.  at 
St.  Andrew's.  Later  he  went  to  London  and  became  a  barris- 
ter, and,  prior  to  entering  the  church,  he  had  for  years  been 
successful  at  Edinburgh,  as  an  advocate. 

He  was  a  short  man,  of  strong  and  heavy  build.  His  im- 
mense leonine  head  was  well  set  on  broad  shoulders  and  a  bull 
neck.  He  forthwith  impressed  one.  The  blue  twinkling 
sparkling  eyes,  the  deep  little  lines  radiating  from  their  cor- 
ners and  ever-ready  for  mirth,  the  shaggy  brows,  great  nose, 
chestnut  luxuriant  hair,  the  grand  face — clearly  marked  a 
Jupiterian  rather  than  a  man  of  law.  His  quick  speech,  alert 
action,  forceful  gesture,  told  instantly  of  directness  and  en- 
ergy. He  was  father  of  ten  children.  Jean,  his  third,  was 
now  engaged  to  Ted.  She  was  a  girl  tall,  handsome,  and  re- 
fined. Her  dark  and  thick  hair,  fine  nose,  snowy  neck  and 
gray  intelligent  eyes  attracted  the  repeated  quiet  scrutiny  of 
Kirk.  From  these  beautiful  intellectual  eyes  it  seemed  to 
him  she  looked  out  with  cheerfulness,  with  a  conscious  prac- 
tical ability,  a  calm  judgment,  a  serene  good  nature,  and  a 
fixity  of  faith.  He  judged  her  correctly,  but  Jean  also  inherit- 
ed her  father's  energy  and  humour,  only  in  her  these  traits 

240 


THE   BOKN   FOOL  241 

were  far  more  latent.  She  was  not  demonstrative.  Her 
mother  gave  the  greater  influence.  Beneath  everything  flowed 
always,  as  it  were,  a  strong  current.  Jean  possessed  a  large- 
hearted  irony  and  force  of  character,  keen  observation  and 
remembrance — giving  her  a  dual  and  secret  mental  life  en- 
tirely unsuspected  even  by  her  family. 

It  rained,  and  after  lunch  Mackenzie  carried  Kirk  off  to 
play  with  him  upon  a  somewhat  battered  billiard  table.  Seven 
young  folk  in  one  house  gave  this  table  but  little  rest.  Not 
quite  large  enough,  the  room  required  the  use  of  a  dumpy 
little  cue  for  top-end-strokes ;  and  Kirk,  greatly  enlivened  by 
his  host,  frequently  avoided  this  cue  by  what  he  called  "engi- 
neering shots."  Mackenzie,  nothing  if  not  enthusiastic,  each 
time  danced  a  moment,  stood  motionless,  and  exhorted  Kirk 
— "Go  on!  Go  on!  Weel!  Weel!  mgeenioua  canthrip! 
Hech!  hech!  Man!  Man!!  Ye'll  neverrr  do  it!!" — And 
more  than  once  Kirk  attempted  eccentricities  just  to  excite 
his  host  and  hear  the  Scottish  accent  at  its  best.  Between 
strokes  they  talked  much  of  books,  experience,  and  people. 
Before  five  o'clock  it  occurred  to  Kirk  that  he  had  told  Mr. 
Mackenzie  a  great  deal  about  himself,  and  his  thoughts. 

"Mither!  Ye  behold  just  two  vary,  vary  learrned  men, 
in  me  and  the  Kirrrkpatrick !"  was  a  statement  made  at  tea 
time  and  received  with  great  laughter. 

Late  that  evening  in  his  rooms,  Ted  recounted  to  Kirk  all 
his  long  love-affair.  He  was  now  intensely  eager  and  hopeful 
of  progress  in  his  business,  so  that  he  might  marry.  He  was 
very  anxious  about  this. 

"If  I  had  not  been  in  the  Church,  Kirk,  her  father  would 
never  have  given  his  consent,  for  my  salary  is  so  poor  at 
present,  and  they  are  well  off,  but  then  too"  (Ted  smiled)  "I 
had  her  dear  Mother  upon  my  side."  Ted  paused  as  he 
thought  of  Jean,  then  turned  to  Kirk  with  a  lit  face  and  ex- 
claimed— 


242  THE    BORN    FOOL 

"Kikkie,  she's  the  truest  woman  I  ever  met!" 

"I  like  her,  Ted,  very  much  indeed ;  even  I  can  see  she  is 
no  ordinary  girl.  She's  very  handsome  .  .  .  beautiful." 

Ted  put  his  hand  on  his  brother's  knee.  "Kikkie,  old  man, 
you  don't  know  what  a  severe  thing  it  is  to  be  in  love.  You 
have  no  idea !  not  in  the  least !  When  she  refused  me  the  last 
time — you  know  that  frightful  hill  just  beyond  Savernake? 
— well,  I  rode  down  that  too  fast  in  any  case  that  day,  but 
my  handle-bars  came  out  and  I  didn't  care  in  the  least;  I 
thought  it  was  death  and  I  was  glad.  I  sat  steady,  waiting, 
but  somehow  the  blessed  machine  went  on  itself !  and  up  the 
other  side!  and  stopped. 

"I  told  her  about  it  the  other  day.  I've  had  such  a  ... 
an  awfully  trying  time,  these  last  few  years,  and  you  know 
it  kept  me  from  doing  just  what  I  wanted  to  do,  I  mean  it 
prevented  me  doing  my  work  as  well,  and  being  as  keen  in  it 
— but  I  could  only  think  of  her;  and  when  she  refused  me 
the  second  time  I  could  not  have  gone  on,  if  it  had  not  been 
for  the  Church.  I  know  you're  different,  Kirk  .  .  .  about 
the  Church  .  .  .  it's  your  pride  of  intellect."  Ted  spoke  on 
questioningly  and  wonderingly.  "But  what  Mother  could 
believe,  surely  you  can  believe  .  .  .  ? 

"...  And  then  a  month  ago  I  felt  Jean  had  changed  to- 
wards me,  and  her  mother  smiled  at  me  one  day,  after 
Church,  in  a  way  I  understood;  so  I  arranged  to  ask  Jean 
once  more." 

Ted  laughed  to  himself. 

"It  was  not  like  other  times.  I  didn't  feel  stupid,  besides, 
I  knew  Angus  Duncan  had  asked  her  and  been  refused — 
young  Rob  told  me — 

"Which  one  is  that,  the  youngest  brother  ?" 

"Yes,  so  I  gave  him  a  new  fly-rod  on  condition  he  was  to 
take  her  out  in  a  boat,  row  her  up  to  Larn  Bridge,  and  I  was 
to  be  there,  Kikkie  (all  unbeknown,  you  bet!),  and  Rob  was 
to  insist  on  picking  me  up,  etc. !  I'll  tell  you.  So  I  got  in. 
We  went  on,  me  in  the  bow,  and  we  left  the  boat  at  Alderf ord, 


THE    BORN    FOOL  243 

and  Rob,  the  young  beggar,  pretended  he'd  not  fastened  the 
boat  up  properly,  and  went  back.  He  left  her  to  me  for  ten 
minutes,  and  I  felt  not  a  bit  nervous.  You've  no  idea  what 
a  fool  I  must  have  seemed  the  other  times !  but  this  time  I 
said  to  her — 

"  'Jean,  why  did  you  refuse  poor  Angus  Duncan  ?'  and  she 
walked  faster,  and  I  said,  'Jean,  I  love  you  so  strongly,  that  I 
insist  on  speaking  to  you  again,  and  if  you'll  marry  me  I'll 
make  you  love  me.'  ...  I  said  something  else  .  .  .  I've 
forgotten  .  .  .  and  asked  her  again,  'Why  did  you  refuse 
Angus  ?'  .  .  .  and  then  I  saw  her  cheek  sideways  and  she  was 
smiling  as  if  she  were  awfully  amused  and  then  what  do  you 
think  she  replied,  very  low,  Kirk?"  Ted's  eyes  shone  with 
his  intent  vision.  "She  said,  'Because  I  love  you!'  So  I 
kissed  her,  and  she  let  me,  bless  her,  and  then  I  kissed  her 
four  times. 

"And  young  Jim  told  them  at  table  that  he  had  brought 
us  together !  and  was  offended  because  they  wouldn't  take  him 
seriously.  Oh  how  her  father  did  laugh !" 

"Kirk !"  shouted  Ted,  laughing,  and  jumping  up  from 
sheer  high  spirits,  "and  now  she  loves  me!  me!  your  old 
stupid  Ted !"  and  he  caught  violently  hold  of  Kirk  (also 
laughing)  and  they  did  a  prodigious  hop-waltz  round  Ted's 
room,  upsetting  chairs  and  a  small  table  of  books — and  some 
one  knocked  sharply  at  the  door.  The  female  voice  of  one 
highly  aggrieved  called  through  the  door — 

"Was  you  wanting  anything,  Mr.  Clinton?" 

"Oh  no,  Mrs.  Jones !  it's  all  right !  don't  be  afraid !"  cried 
Ted.  "I've  just  been  explaining  a  little  engineering  problem 
to  my  brother,  you  know — thank  you — good  night,  Mrs.  Jones 
—Good  night !" 

"Oh,  you  shocking  liar,  Ted !  Well,  you  make  me  marvel !" 

"Wait  till  you  fall  in  love,  Kikkie !"  said  Ted,  with  exul- 
tation. "It  runs  in  the  family,  the  old  man  fairly  stormed 
Mother,  so  Aunt  Athorpe  says.  Fairly  carried  her  off  by 
force  from  some  other  fellow,  I  believe." 


244  THE    BORN    FOOL 

"Yes,  he  did  love  her  .  .  .  and  no  one  else,"  said  Kirk. 

The  two  brothers  parted  next  evening.  Kirk  changed  trains 
at  Bristol,  and  there  was  an  hour  between  arrival  and  depar- 
ture. He  left  the  station  quickly  to  do  something  for  which 
he  had  not  found  opportunity  in  Cheltenham.  Fruit  was 
scarce  and  poor  in  the  North,  but  here  he  bought  four  large 
bunches  of  splendid  purple-black  grapes  and  he  took  them, 
carefully  packed,  to  the  station.  He  placed  them  on  the 
middle  of  the  carriage  seat  to  prevent  their  being  jarred. 
Their  possession  gave  him  a  warm  gratification.  Now  he 
was  in  the  train  the  return  to  Bruside  did  not  seem  so  distaste- 
ful as  he  had  imagined  it  would  be.  He  was  somewhat  aware 
of  a  slight  sense  of  unfaithfulness  to  his  beloved  South,  but 
he  did  not  analyse  his  feelings.  He  thought  of  Ted,  and  of 
Jean.  .  .  . 

"Very  fine-looking,  beautiful  and  good,  a  rich  nature,  a 
lovely  body  in  keeping,  a  rather  noble  face.  .  .  .  Ted's  very 
fortunate  .  .  .  but  I  would  never  have  fallen  in  love  with 
her,  nor  she  with  me.  She  is  too  religious,  too  conventional, 
too  ...  I  don't  know  what." 

He  well  knew  himself  to  be  different  somehow  from  others 
.  .  .  and  he  fell  asleep  in  his  solitary  corner  wondering 
vaguely  why  he  was  different — and  the  train  roared  on 
through  Worcestershire  and  past  his  old  home. 

At  half-past  six  next  morning,  in  pitchy  darkness  and  a 
heavy  mist  and  dense  rain,  he  arrived  at  Bruside.  He  walked 
up  the  long  hill-road.  Only  Mrs.  Gisburn  was  in  the  house. 
She  smiled  at  him  as  he  entered  the  gas-lit  room. 

"Ay,  Mr.  Clinton !  I'm  glad  to  see  ye !  it's  seemed  so  dead 
and  lone-like,  without  ye !  Gurls  was  sorry  ye  went  away  for 
Christmas,  but  I  told  them — 'Nay !  he  mun  see  his  own  folk, 
gurls.'  " 

Kirk  shook  her  hand,  then  at  once  began  to  open  the  box 
of  grapes  before  he  took  off  his  dripping  overcoat,  but  she 
stopped  him,  and  helped  him  take  off  his  coat.  She  carried 
it  away  and  returned,  saying : 


THE    BORN    FOOL  245 

"Ruth's  just  put  her  shawl  on  and  gone  to  Ackroyd's  to 
get  some  eggs.  Now  ye  must  be  wet  and  cowd  and  ye  look 
quite  neshed !  and  ye'll  have  something  to  eat  at  once  ?" 

"Oh,  I'm  all  right,  thank  you,  Mrs.  Gisburn,"  said  Kirk, 
adding :  "Will  you  bring  me  a  big  dish  ?  I've  brought  some 
grapes  for  the  girls." 

When  Mrs.  Gisburn  saw  the  pile  of  luscious  fruit  she  was 
quite  shocked. 

"Mesther  Clinton !  Mesther  Clinton !  Ye  mustn't  go  spend- 
ing your  munney  like  that  agen,  and  on  our  gurls !" 

"Good  heavens!  Why,  it's  nothing,  Mrs.  Gisburn!  But  do 
you  think  they  will  like  them  ?  We  can  send  some  to  the  mill 
for  their  breakfast,  can't  we?" 

"Like  them?  Ay  indeed,  they'll  weel  like  them,  but  ye'd 
no  right  to  go  wasting  your  munney,  Mr.  Clinton.  Dinah  and 
Marian's  often  bothered  me  to  get  them  grapes  i'  summertime. 
They  do  say  the  mill's  ower-waarm  all  the  year  for  etting  in, 
though  I've  never  been  to  mill  mysel',  for  my  folk  had  a  good 
business  .  .  .  Ay,  I've  never  seen  such  grapes !"  then  she  con- 
tinued in  a  softer  voice,  "I'm  sure  it's  varry  kind  of  ye,  Mr. 
Clinton,  to  bring  them,  they've  come  from  South  ?" 

"Yes,  they  were  grown  in  Devon — so  they  said — now  let 
us  make  up  three  equal  shares,  I'm  sure  Jim  will  like  them 
too,  will  you  cut  them  up,  Mrs.  Gisburn  ?"  He  was  removing 
his  wet  boots. 

Mrs.  Gisburn  gingerly  handling  her  scissors  parsimoni- 
ously cut  a  few  grapes  from  a  single  bunch. 

"Oh,  far,  far  more  than  those !  one  minute,  Mrs.  Gisburn ! 
shall  I  do  it  ?  Yes,  let  me  do  it !" 

He  ran  upstairs,  hastily  washed  his  hands,  then  came  down 
and  made  up  three  goodly  half  bunches. 

"There !  send  those !"  said  he  smiling. 

"They'll  be  fair  surprised  and  pleased,"  said  Mrs.  Gis- 
burn. "Ee !  Dinah  will  fair  felly  wi'  them !"  said  she  with 
a  hard  smile,  overcoming  her  scruples  of  propriety  and  thrift, 
and  catching  Kirk's  enthusiasm. 


246  THE    BORN"   FOOL 

"  Telly  ?'  "  laughed  Kirk.    "What  does  'felly'  mean  ?" 

"Proud-like,  y'r  know,  ovver  t'other  gurls.  It'll  be  first 
time  grapes  like  these  have  ever  been  etten  i'  yon  mill;  I 
don't  know  what  folks'll  say  to  me." 

"What  ...?...  Mrs.  Gisburn,  believe  me,  you  should 
never  care  in  even  the  slightest  degree,  what  others  say  of 
you!" 

Glowing  with  the  romantic  idiocy  of  inexperienced  youth, 
Kirk  wrote  on  a  bit  of  paper,  "From  K.  Clinton,"  and  at 
eight  o'clock  he  saw  the  breakfast  basket  leave  for  the  mill. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

KIRK  began  to  lose  his  first  keen  aversion  to  the  rough 
and  bleak  scenery  of  Bruside.  For  his  was  that  type  of 
mind  which  imagines  always  the  living  figure  in  the  hewn 
marble — that  type  which,  while  young,  cannot  long  remain 
unaffectionate,  even  to  trees,  things,  places,  walls  and  houses. 
These  people  are  like  those  plants  which,  after  being  torn 
up  by  the  roots,  always  have  power,  after  a  long  pause,  to 
put  forth  again  the  live  leaves — the  same  kind  of  leaves — 
from  the  merest  dry  roots.  Kirk's  letters  to  Mary  dwelt  less 
and  less  on  the  hideousness  of  mills.  He  had  found  the  be- 
loved faithful  spring  forgot  not  the  north-country.  He  had 
discovered  and  daily  appreciated  that  Bruside  was  far  better 
off  than  all  those  narrow  town-filled  valleys — so  squalid, 
crowded,  and  polluted — that  lay  as  it  were  sunk  around  Bru- 
side. Up  here  they  had  the  moors  and  the  people  of  the 
moors — Celtic-minded  and  romantic  to-day  up  to  the  very 
limit  their  hard  commercial  lives  permitted  them. 

Upon  a  still  and  mild  evening,  early  in  April,  Kirk  stood 
among  the  sisters  and  beside  the  brother,  on  the  flagged  space 
before  their  house.  Kirk  long  had  appreciated  the  sensibility 
of  the  unknown  man  who  built  this  house — the  man  who  set 
its  face  towards  the  open  distance. 

It  was  sunset  and  the  light  died  far  away  over  the  distant 
moorlands.  From  the  house  front  the  land  sloped  away 
quickly  through  many  little  stone-walled  fields,  down  into  the 
deep  hazy  valley.  The  wonted  lines  of  white  unmelted  snow, 
which  for  so  many  cold  and  stormy  months  had  lain  behind 
the  distant  netting  of  black  stone  walls — had  now  like  magic 
faded  and  vanished  in  these  first  warm  days. 

247 


248  THE    BORN   FOOL 

Doors  and  windows  for  hours  had  stood  wide  open.  The 
evening  drew  in  slowly.  Lonely  thrushes  sang  in  the  distant 
little  woods  that  sheltered  in  the  cloughs  and  deeper  folds,  and 
it  was  the  "sweeling-time." 

The  boys  of  the  few  moorland  farms  were  this  evening  at 
sundown  burning  off  the  coarse  herbage,  long  dead  and  snow- 
bleached.  The  dead  growth  would  have  hindered  the  young 
blades  from  pushing  upwards.  This  burning  was  called  "the 
sweel'ing,"  or  "swale-ing." 

Marian  had  linked  arms  with  Ruth,  and  they  all  watched 
the  fiery  lines  and  patches — like  dropped  fragments  of  the 
fiery  sunset — beginning,  creeping,  and  growing  on  the  remote 
black  moors.  This  was  a  time  of  year  joined  in  Marian's  life 
with  the  scanty  joys  that  she  had  known.  More  than  the  com- 
ing of  Christmas — more  even  than  the  brass  bands  playing 
"Hail,  Smiling  Morn"  very  early  on  New  Year's  morning — 
did  the  coming  of  sweeling-time  always  move  Marian.  And 
Kirk,  too,  standing  beside  her,  perceived  a  murmuring  and 
smiling  in  the  dark  land — the  hard  hand  of  winter  at  last  re- 
moved— the  wondrous  sound  of  the  earthly  blessed  resurrec- 
tion of  the  flowers. 

Marian  exclaimed  in  a  low  voice,  "Fancy !  It's  the  first 
time  he's  ever  seen  the  sweeling !" 

The  warm  gentle  wind  carried  from  afar  the  sweet  scent 
of  burning  ling  and  heath-plants. 

"Can't  you  smell  it  ?"  said  Marian,  ecstatically.  "Oh !  .  . 
isn't  it  sweet?  It's  from  the  moors  right  beyond.  .  .  . 
You'll  see  it  to-morrow,  Mr.  Clinton,  all  the  valleys  and  the 
air'll  be  blue  with  it.  .  .  .  I  do  love  this  .  .  .  you'll  see  .  .  . 
There's  lots  of  flowers  here  later  on,  aren't  there,  Jim  ?  .  .  . 
clover-heads  and  butterflowers  in  the  fields,  and  foxgloves  i' 
Fall  water  Clough,  like  what  you  talk  of  ...  you'll  see !" 

Kirk  and  Marian  spoke  now  and  then.  But  in  their  voices 
an  intense  and  other  meaning  than  of  their  words  quickened 
between  them.  Pure,  marvellous,  physical  vibrations  passed 
between  them  in  secret;  but  Kirk  remained  unconscious  of 


THE    BOKN    FOOL  249 

their  purport.  Glows  of  vague  joy  and  hope  filled  him,  noble 
thoughts  arose,  his  protectiveness  surrounded  Marian  and  her 
sisters,  and  extended  far  from  him  even  over  all  the  toiling 
people  in  the  darkening  valleys.  He  felt  an  aureola  of  sweet- 
ness and  kindness  around  himself  and  he  spread  it  far  out 
over  his  fellow  human  heings.  He  began  speaking  in  a  low 
voice,  passionately, 

"Oh,  Marian !  what  romance,  what  passion,  what  inarticu- 
late longing-to-be,  there  is  in  this  strange  land  of  mills  and 
steam  and  engineering  and  moors,  and  long  wild  weather, 
and  spring  again !  .  .  .  that  is  the  feeling  it  gives  me,  the 
unsung  feeling;  the  joy  and  the  sorrow  of  this  land  where  life 
passes  so  feverishly  and  unrested,  where  such  immeasurable 
cry  of  work,  and  toil,  and  love  undying,  ascends.  But  the 
Mother-earth  forgets  not  her  toiling  child — and  Spring  comes, 
and  is  clasped  passionately  by  her  dark  Northern  child." 

He  stopped  speaking  and  thought  on  to  himself,  "What 
can  be  this  quickening  and  suffering  of  so  many  ?  It  must  be, 
yes,  is,  for  some  great  end  of  which  we  still  know  nothing. 
They  are  all  to  learn  some  deep  thing  that  as  yet  they  know 
but  dimly.  The  Lancashire  Edwin  Waugh  felt  it,  and  ex- 
pressed it  as  much  as  his  gift  allowed  him  in  those  poems,  but 
still,  still  it  remains  an  inarticulate  'moorland,'  overcoming 
me,  and  all  who  come  to  it,  with  the  roar  of  its  toil  and  ma- 
chinery— so  that  they  cannot  yet  speak  or  think,  and  all  their 
lives  are  taken  up  in  doing,  and  yet  they  have  this" — and 
he  gazed  at  the  fires  in  the  sky  and  the  golden  moving  lines  on 
the  dusky  moors. 

"This  is  the  magical  eternal  return  of  its  own  life  to  their 
own  moors — their  beloved  sweeling  time,  and  I  see  now  that 
these  great  wilds,  the  cloughs,  the  crowded  valleys,  all  teem 
with  romance,  with  themes  of  hidden  kindness  and  beauty; 
and  where  have  I  seen  lovers  more  understood,  appreciated, 
and  loved  of  all  ?  .  .  .  and  that's  a  beautiful  sign,  and  some 
day  in  their  midst  will  grow  up  some  mightier  poet,  or  he  may 
be  a  musician !  yes,  a  musician !  into  whom  will  enter  the  face 


250  THE    BORN    FOOL 

and  nature  of  their  moors  and  their  lives — so  beautiful  be- 
neath the  careworn  lines  that  I  see,  and  I  so  feel — and  his 
music  will  be  like  all  the  feelings  of  these  people,  like  their 
suffering,  patience,  toil,  going-on-ness — their  life — and  their 
passionate  love  of  homes."  "He  will  be  of  their  very  own, 
but  more  spiritual." 

Next  day  the  whole  sunny,  still  atmosphere,  was  stained 
and  blued  with  the  slow-dispersing  smoke  from  the  moors ;  it 
sank  down  into  the  narrow  valleys  and  slowly  filled  them ;  it 
rose  up  again  to  stream  away  across  the  high  moorlands. 
Gradually  the  sweet  haze  invaded  every  house. 

As  he  went  down  to  work  Kirk  saw  unwonted  movement  on 
the  distant  isolated  little  farms,  so  long  beaten  by  winter 
storm  and  snows  and  rain.  The  cows  had  been  led  forth 
from  their  close  byres,  and  Kirk  saw  them  gambol  clumsily. 
The  distant  crow  of  cocks  came  on  the  spring  air.  Green 
buds  showed  in  the  stunted  hawthorns,  and  Kirk  who  shared 
their  joy  knew  that  somewhere  in  these  low  still-naked  bushes 
the  hedgesparrow  hid  her  bright  blue  eggs,  for  the  little  cock 
sang  upon  a  thorn-tip,  his  eyes  bright  as  bright,  his  voice 
sweet  as  sweet. 

A  fortnight  later,  the  cry  of  a  cuckoo  while  the  bird  trav- 
elled on  northwards  from  sloping  leafless  copse  to  copse 
reached  the  ears  of  Kirk,  so  unexpected  by  him,  and  moved 
him  to  his  soul. 

But  the  repulsion  Kirk  felt  to  his  work,  to  engineering, 
to  these  coarse  materialistic  men  who  do  the  heavy  physical 
work  of  the  world,  had  not  decreased,  and  it  became  more 
and  more  irksome,  difficult,  miserable,  to  descend  from  the 
heavenly  and  beautiful  that  he  lived  in.  Yet  daily  and  hourly 
was  he  forced  to  contract  himself  down  to  the  crude  actuali- 
ties of  concrete  and  excavations,  of  disputes  for  money,  of 
watching  over  dishonest  minds.  He  had  to  descend  and  enter 
minutely  into  things  which  no  longer  interested  him.  For 


THE    BORN    FOOL  251 

he  looked  far  into  distant  time,  and  he  saw  the  triviality  of 
the  whole  material  works  of  the  world ;  he  saw  in  the  remote 
recesses  of  time  these  very  works,  infinitely  long-since  fin- 
ished, used,  grown  old,  abandoned,  decayed,  disappeared ;  and 
a  new  race  of  men  come,  to  repeat  the  monotonous,  useless, 
materialistic  earth-life. 

Never  had  the  irrepressible  obscenities  of  navvies  and  pub- 
lic-works' men  jarred  him  as  they  had  done  of  late.  But  he 
forced  himself  sternly  and  conscientiously  to  do  his  duty ;  and 
he  found  a  friend  who  helped  him  by  example. 

Mr.  Wilkinson  watched  the  works  on  behalf  of  the  Water 
Board.  He  bore  the  old  English  title  of  "Clerk  of  the  Works." 
He  had  quickly  noted  with  surprise  that  Kirk  held  strong 
ideas  about  honour,  truth,  and  good  work.  For  some  months 
he  had  watched  incredulously,  expecting  to  find  some  more 
subtle  form  of  roguery ;  for  Mr.  Wilkinson  had  not  previous- 
ly met  a  contractor's  engineer  who  pleased  him.  They  all 
had  possessed  a  too  peculiar  and  perverted  honour.  They 
were  all  wolves  and  thieves  in  Mr.  Wilkinson's  opinion.  They 
all  thought  it  their  true  enthusiastic  duty  to  their  employers 
to  get  payment  for  more  than  they  had  done,  to  use  less 
cement  and  more  inferior  cement  than  was  specified.  They  all 
tried  hard  to  use  qualities  of  material  that  only  just  passed 
the  standard  of  goodness,  to  proffer  worse  materials  in  the 
hope  of  their  acceptance,  and  to  cheat  in  every  way  possible ; 
especially  during  any  temporary  absence  of  the  watchful 
Clerk  of  Works.  But  in  the  past  four  or  five  months  of  Kirk's 
supervision  none  of  these  too  common  abuses  had  arisen  on 
the  Bruside  works,  and  Mr.  Wilkinson  had  come  to  take  quite 
a  warm  interest  in  this  new  kind  of  young  man  from  the 
South;  and,  at  cautious  length,  he  desired  his  friendship. 
Kirk,  upon  his  part,  perceived  in  this  man  sterling  good  quali- 
ties. He  found  him  just,  honourable,  helpful,  clever,  far-see- 
ing in  methods,  fair  in  measurement  and  allowance,  and  gen- 
erous in  sound  advice  gathered  from  his  large  experience. 

Mr.  Wilkinson  was  self-educated.     Once  he  had  been  a 


252  THE    BORN    FOOL 

woollen  weaver ;  then  for  some  years  he  was  a  dyer's  labourer ; 
but,  being  refused  a  well-deserved  promotion,  he  had  fiercely 
put  on  his  coat  and  left  this  work. 

After  severe  vicissitudes  in  small  shop-keeping,  he  became 
a  builder's  clerk,  and  there  he  succeeded.  He  became  outside 
foreman,  and  did  good  work  in  school  building.  He  left  this 
staff  and  passed  from  new  railway  stations  and  bridges  to 
small  waterworks,  then  to  large  well-known  works,  and  thus 
back  to  Bruside,  which  lay  near  his  birthplace.  A  quick  and 
eager  learner,  a  natural  seeker  after  refinement,  he  had  bene- 
fited by  his  contact  with  eminent  architects  and  engineers, 
and  further,  by  much  reading  of  good  literature.  His  North- 
ern accent  was  now  but  slight  and  his  grammar  quite  good. 
Kirk  and  Mr.  Wilkinson  at  times  had  their  lunch  together, 
and  conversed  on  men  and  things.  Kirk  found  his  colleague 
knew  much  of  Burns  and  Walter  Scott.  Wilkinson  one  day 
brought  out  from  a  cupboard  some  of  these  authors'  works 
and  asked  Kirk — in  that  shy  way  of  those  who  live  much  in- 
ternally— 

"Do  you  read  much,  Mr.  Clinton  I  ...  I  think  you  do. 
Do  you  know  these  ?  .  .  .  I  read  a  bit  in  the  dinner  hour,  and 
a  good  deal  at  home  .  .  .  it's  a  pleasant  change  from  the 
work."  He  opened  the  Burns  while  he  spoke,  and  after  a 
few  nervously  shy  movements,  he  read  impressively  a  few 
verses  that  well  pleased  him,  and  Kirk  was  charmed. 

The  mind  of  this  man  was  materialistic  yet  philosophical. 
He  had  a  slow*  but  acute  insight  into  character.  He  perceived 
Kirk  to  be  an  idealist,  and  would  have  despised  him  had  Kirk 
not  also  given  daily  evidence  of  downright  sound  practica- 
bility. Kirk  discovered  a  secret  timid  idealism  in  ]\Ir.  Wil- 
kinson, and  that  he  had  a  sure  artistic  intuition  in  architec- 
ture. Kirk  advised  him  upon  literature,  and  also  discoursed 
learnedly  on  strains  and  graphics.  Wilkinson  discussed  de- 
sign of  buildings,  methods  of  doing  engineering  work,  books, 
and  philosophical  ideas. 

On  the  Bruside  works  they  settled  amicably  and  justly  each 


THE    BORN    FOOL  253 

point  as  it  arose.  Their  policy  was  that  of  give  and  take, — 
the  just  compromise.  The  engineer  to  the  Board  thought 
much  of  Wilkinson,  for  he  had  been  with  him  some  years  and 
he  knew  his  qualities.  Things  went  smoothly  at  Bruside,  the 
work  done  was  good,  and  there  were  no  disputes. 

"Old  Wilkinson  gives  that  youngster  high  praise,"  said  the 
engineer  to  his  partner;  and  without  Kirk  knowing  it  he 
began  to  earn  a  reputation  in  certain  northern  engineering 
circles. 

The  concessions  gained  now  and  then  by  Kirk  made  up 
amply  for  any  supposed  saving  effected  by  roguery.  Mr. 
Bendigo  was  reaping  a  steady  profit  of  twenty-five  per  cent. ; 
he  too  was  well  pleased;  and  with  his  employer  Kirk's  star 
was  in  the  ascendant. 

Expecting  surprise,  Kirk  one  day  abruptly  broke  his  own 
reserve,  and  remarked  at  lunch — 

"I  suppose,  Mr.  Wilkinson,  that  you  think  I  like  this  kind 
of  life?" 

"No,  Mr.  Clinton,  I  have  not  thought  that  for  a  long 
time." — The  surprise  was  Kirk's. 

"But  that  needn't  trouble  you;  you  are  very  young,  you 
will  get  used  to  things.  Most  men  think  they  could  be  happy 
in  some  line  they  have  never  tried.  .  .  .  Now  look  at  Mr. 
Brough,  he  seems  really  born  for  engineering  and  business, 
does  he  not  ?" 

"Yes,  I  should  say  he  was  one  in  his  right  field." 

Wilkinson  laughed.  "Well!  believe  me,  Mr.  Clinton,  he 
told  me  one  day  before  you  came — and  he  was  speaking  the 
truth — that  his  whole  ambition  is  to  become  a  big  farmer, 
and  that  he  hates  his  business  and  our  own  line  in  life  and 
he  longs  only  for  that ;  he  said  he  meant  to  buy  a  farm  out- 
right." 

"I  should  never  have  thought  it !" 

A  curious  disappointment  touched  Kirk.  He  had  believed 
himself  the  one  rare  person  who  lived  a  strange  dual  life, 


254  THE    BORN    FOOL 

among  his  fellow  men.  The  new  fact  seemed  to  tie  him  more 
irretrievably  to  his  profession.  If  Brough  could  not  over- 
come his  environment  and  fate — so  very  strong  a  man — how 
could  he  himself  escape  ? 

A  second  thought  arose — How  had  Wilkinson  fathomed 
him? 

".  .  .  But  do  I  look  then  as  though  I  hated  money-grul> 
bing?  As  though  I  were  not  an  engineer?"  He  asked  it 
anxiously,  but  the  elder  man  laughed. 

"Nay,"  said  Wilkinson,  eyeing  him  up  and  down,  and  smil- 
ing wisely, — "you  look  an  engineer  all  over,  Mr.  Clinton — if 
that  pleases  you !  You  are  young,  and  you  will  find  as  you 
go  on  that  very  few  men  want  to  excel,  very  few  indeed  aim 
at  being  something  genuine,  as  you  do.  They  all  look  at  their 
work  as  something  that  has  to  be  done  only  in  order  to  get 
money.  They  don't  care  at  all  if  it  is  good  or  bad  engineer- 
ing, or  good  or  bad  architecture,  or  good  or  bad  cloth,  so  long 
as  it  brings  in  the  money,  and  gives  the  least  trouble.  That's 
why  there's  so  much  bad  architecture  put  up.  .  .  .  But  life 
is  nothing  but  duty,  Mr.  Clinton.  Duty  is  the  only  thing  that 
lasts,  the  only  thing  that  ever  gives  a  man  satisfaction !" 

But  to  Kirk  that  cold  duty  seemed  repellant,  unescapable, 
and  possessed  of  an  importance  that  was  too  lamentable.  Ah, 
were  there  not  all  lovely  things  beside,  and  none  knew 
what  .  .  .  ? 

At  this  time  the  presence  of  Mr.  Wilkinson  was  to  Kirk  a 
source  of  real  help  and  steadiness. 

A  week  later  and  the  snow  once  more  lay  in  patches  on  the 
moors  and  hills,  and  in  long  white  lines  behind  the  black 
walls  of  those  solitary  upland  farms,  whose  fields  creep  up 
to  the  verges  of  the  waste  moors.  The  cattle  were  again  in 
their  steamy  shippens.  It  was  strange  to  Kirk  that  this  sud* 
den  change  had  come  with  a  dark  depression  he  felt.  Since 
the  evening  when  he  had  walked  back  from  Junipen,  this  over- 
whelming sadness  had  come  upon  him  suddenly  now  and 


THE    BORN    FOOL  255 

again.  Trying  to  analyse  his  own  feelings  he  thought  it  was 
the  desire  not  to  live  the  world-life,  the  aversion  from  human 
life  as  apparently  set  out  for  him.  Sometimes  he  had  even 
wished  he  were  religious,  for  then  he  felt  he  would  be  drawn 
strongly  to  monastic  life.  He  had  read  and  spoken  of  love, 
but  always  as  of  some  distant  beautiful  thing  he  had  once 
known.  He  had  been  thrilled,  but  never  once  had  he  dwelt 
on  the  acquiring  of  a  home  for  himself  and  another.  Never 
had  he  consciously  imagined  himself  loving  and  living  with 
a  girl,  a  wife.  .  .  .  He  pondered  over  and  turned  again  in 
mind  to  the  words  of  the  poet  and  philosopher.  "And  I  con- 
sider love  unto  things  and  ghosts  to  be  higher  than  love  unto 
men." — And,  thought  Kirk  to  himself,  "It  was  said  for  me 
and  my  rare  species,  not  for  Ted,  or  Minnitt,  or  Mr.  Lucy,  or 
Brough,  or  Wilkinson." 

As  he  walked  slowly  up  from  the  works  through  the  cold 
penetrating  air,  he  sought  to  re-enter  his  departing  dreams 
and  thus  refresh  his  passionate  love  of  nature.  Undoubtedly 
he  had  experienced  a  strange  diminution  in  his  old  love.  He 
thought  it  was  caused  by  this  material  life  he  was  forced  to 
lead  and  by  his  sad  acknowledgment  of  the  apparently  proved 
truths  of  Hegel,  Huxley,  Darwin,  and  the  rest  of  them. 

The  ewes  had  all  lambed  in  the  South,  but  here — he  no- 
ticed— though  the  thrush  had  sung  and  the  sun  shone,  yet  at 
midday  the  pools  of  the  undrained  fields  in  the  deep  foggy 
valley  remained  icebound,  and  the  day  was  now  closing  in 
cold,  ruddy  and  frosty,  just  as  in  winter  depths. 

In  the  South  there  would  be  no  snow,  and  the  tender  green 
things  would  all  be  pushing  up  through  the  kindly  dead 
leaves ;  a  rustling  would  already  go  on  all  night  in  those  warm 
Southern  woods,  and  the  sleek  shrew-mice  would  squeak, 
sing,  and  glide  furtively,  and  at  this  mid-day  were  running  in 
the  hedgerow  bottoms,  or  stopping,  in  the  real  sunshine,  to 
nibble  the  first  delicate  green  of  the  wild  geranium —  But 
here  .  .  .  life  was  surely  all  hard  and  cold.  .  .  . 


256  THE    BORN    FOOL 

He  sat  silently  at  'the  evening  meal,  and  looked  once  at 
Marian,  as,  perhaps,  Hamlet  once  looked  at  Ophelia.  Be- 
tween himself  and  woman,  there  seemed  a  great  gulf  fixed.  A 
vague  unaccountable  but  irresistible  grief  and  feeling  of  un- 
rest drove  him  to  go  forth ;  he  rose  from  his  place  and  with 
scarcely  a  word  left  the  house. 

When  he  had  gone  away  so  oddly  Dinah  alone  was  in  good 
spirits,  and  scornful  with  it. 

"Ay,  Mother !"  she  exclaimed  as  they  heard  the  door  close — 
"I  think  nowt  of  your  fine  gentlemen !  Give  me  a  chap  like 
Arthur  Clegg  any  day,  say  I!  I  never  know  how  to  take 
yon.  He's  like  them  soft  ones  ye  read  of !" 

"Tha'd  like  to  have  him  theeself ,  wouldn't  thee,  Dinah  ?" 
said  mischievous  Jim,  laughing. 

"Not  while  he's  after  our  Marian!"  snapped  Dinah, 
greatly  vexed,  jealous,  and  intent  to  wound.  Her  dark  bru- 
nette cheeks  flushed  up.  She  interrupted  Ruth  and  Mrs.  Gis- 
burn,  to  mimick  cleverly  Kirk's  voice — "  'Marian,  Marian,  I 
feel  this  land  is  so  romantic'  " — "Did  ye  hear  th'  soft  thing 
on  th'  flagstone,  sweelin'  night  ?" — "  'Marian,  Ho !  Mar- 
ian !'  " — and  she  mimicked  Kirk  again,  very  amusingly  and 
maliciously.  Jim  was  laughing  so  much  that  the  tea  in  his 
poised  cup  spilled  on  the  cloth. 

"Dash  you!  if  you  say  another  word  I'll  throw  this  at 
you !"  said  Marian,  picking  up  a  knife — she  had  gone  very 
pale. 

"I  tell  you  I  hate  him,  and  I  hate  all  of  you,"  said  she. 

She  pushed  back  her  chair  and  went  quickly  and  heavily 
up  to  her  bedroom.  She  left  Mrs.  Gisburn  angrily  speak- 
ing. 

"What  are  ye  saying?  Y're  all  mad!  I  never  heard  the 
like !  He'd  not  stay  here  a  day  if  he  knew !  I'm  ashamed 
of  ye,  ...  if  ye  were  my  own  daughters,  but  yeVe  no  pride 
in  ye !  and  what  are  ye  ?  Naught  but  mill-girls !  How  dare 
ye  carry  on  like  that,  ye  huzzy  Dinah.  .  .  ."  She  paused 


THE   BOEN    FOOL  257 

for  breath,  and  Ruth — most  unusually  moved — broke  in 
quietly — 

"I  shall  not  live  with  you,  Dinah,  if  you  behave  like  this 
again.  Mr.  Clinton  is  a  gentleman,  and  will  never  look  at 
any  of  you,  nor,  I  am  sure,  has  ever  looked  at  any  of  you, 
from  that  point  of  view.  And  you  must  tell  him  to  seek  some 
other  house,  mother. — As  for  you,  Dinah,  you  have  shown  a 
vulgar  and  ridiculous  jealousy;  and  Marian  has  shown  her 
usual  manners — and,  of  course,  has  left  me  her  washing-up 
and  shelves  to  do,  although  it  is  her  turn,  as  I  have  no  doubt 
she  well  knows.  I  shall  consider  if  it  is  not  my  duty  to  re- 
peat to  Mr.  Clinton  every  word  that  has  just  been  spoken." 

Euth  waited  calmly  until  the  outcry  against  her  ceased, 
and  then  continued  her  remarks — "Nor  are  we  mill-girls, 
mother.  You  too  have  insulted  me.  We  were  not  born  to 
that,  you  know  that  we  are  different ;  you  have  never  worked 
in  a  mill  yourself,  Mother,  you  do  not  know  what  it  is  like, 
and  please  never  again  throw  that  in  our  faces." 

This  allusion  of  her  stepmother's  deeply  vexed  Euth's 
pride,  for  she  and  her  sisters  for  years  now  had  sustained 
themselves  more  than  they  knew  and  self-succoured  their  own 
weary  hearts  with  the  mutual  feeling  that  they  were  not  of 
the  mill-life.  They  had  a  hope  and  belief  of  better  things 
and  better  fortunes,  and  they  all  secretly  looked  forward  to 
relief  from  the  forced  association  with  the  crowd  of  ordinary 
mill-folk — with  whom  they  refused  to  be  too  familiar — and 
who  treated  them  accordingly.  The  companionship  of  Kirk 
unconsciously  and  immensely  had  revived  them,  but  in  the 
younger  sisters  the  association  had  awakened  subtilely  a  pain- 
ful and  active  discontent  with  their  lot.  For  months  Marian 
had  been  living  in  a  secret  dream  of  extraordinary  hope  and 
happiness.  When  Kirk  showed  her  some  little  unthought  pref- 
erence she  was  filled  with  joy.  But  even  to  her  secret  self 
she  had  not  put  questions,  for  she  dared  not ;  and  when  she 
had  found  herself  thinking,  "Oh,  I  always  knew  he  would 
come!"  she  quickly  stifled  it  with  a  fear  almost  superstitious. 


258  THE    BORN    FOOL 

She  was  being  carried  in  rose-light,  to  a  culmination.  But 
is  it  possible  for  a  young  woman  to  have  strong  feelings  to- 
wards a  man,  without  rousing  in  him  at  least  some  kind  of 
answering  throb  ?  If  he  is  young,  such  is  certain  in  the  end. 

The  character  of  Marian  was  impulsive,  emotional,  in- 
stinctive, and  non-mental.  Ruth  was  refined,  sexless,  unself- 
ish, and  intellectual  without  the  scope.  Dinah  was  strongly 
built,  she  was  a  materialist,  of  the  quickness  of  a  spider,  and 
she  never  dreamt.  Jim  was  a  true  philosopher,  light-hearted, 
light  of  conscience,  lightly  tied  to  everything,  moderately  un- 
selfish, and  his  clever  mind  and  sense  of  humour  carried  him 
easily  through  any  trouble.  He  was  seldom  serious,  and 
those  who  were  unknowingly  tempted  him  to  tease  or  quiz 
them.  Also,  he  had  a  wiry,  healthy  body.  He  had  always 
been  the  happiest  member  of  the  family. 

He  showed  the  same  sexlessness  as  Ruth.  He  had  never 
been  in  love.  Life  with  his  sisters  and  his  stepmother,  dur- 
ing the  past  fifteen  years,  had  gone  to  strengthen  his  some- 
what womanish  cast  of  mind.  This  evening  having  largely 
created  for  mere  fun  the  storm  between  his  sisters,  the  wise 
Jim  it  was  who  saw  most  clearly  a  personal  and  general  loss 
in  the  removal  of  Kirk ;  and  later  on,  his  silver  tongue  soon 
argued  so  plausibly  with  Ruth  quite  another  course  of  duty, 
that  she  waited,  indecisive  for  days,  and  meanwhile  her  pride 
returned  to  equilibrium,  and  her  intention  waned.  In  the 
end  Kirk  was  told  nothing,  but  thought  of  the  more. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

JIMMIE  was  sincere  and  kind,  and  capable  of  real  feeling 
when  serious.  But  habitually  he  was  carelessly  light- 
hearted,  dual  and  mercurial,  and  somewhat  insensitive  to 
others'  feelings.  He  was  but  slightly  sexed,  and  he  seldom 
felt  a  deep  emotion.  He  had  always  been  a  teaser  and  a 
chaffer  of  girls;  for  he  regarded  them  almost  solely  from  a 
mental  standpoint.  Many  a  girl  of  the  district  had  dismissed 
him  from  discussion  with  words  such  as — "Eh !  yon  Jim- 
mie's  nowt  but  a  tease !"  or  "Jimmie  Butterworth's  nobbut 
one  o'  them  lively  wordy  'uns !" — "Arve  no  time  t'werst  on 
yon  sooart !" — or,  " Jim  ?  Ay !  Go's  too  fly  and  leet  ever  to 
get  wed !  Tha'  shud  never  think  o'  him,  my  lass — yon  chap's 
a  bachelor-born !" 

Kirk  still  was  undecided  whether  to  spend  Easter  at  Bru- 
side,  or  go  fishing  to  his  Merionethshire  haunts.  His  works 
were  to  be  closed  down  for  nearly  a  week.  The  mills,  too, 
would  be  silent  a  little  while;  they  would  remain  shut  on 
Thursday  afternoon,  Good  Friday,  Saturday,  and  Easter  Sun- 
day, making  altogether  for  the  girls  a  holiday  of  three  and  a 
half  days — much  looked  forward  to.  It  was  now  "Wednesday. 
Some  young  male  friend  of  the  Gisburns  was  to  arrive  in 
the  evening,  and  they  spoke  of  him  to  Kirk.  He  felt  a  novel 
and  disagreeable  sensation  as  he  listened : — 

".  .  .  Ay !  he's  such  a  nice  young  man !"  said  Jimmie,  his 
bright  hazel  eyes  mischievously  sparkling,  "and  he  can  play 
and  sing  like  ten  shepsters  *  on  a  soonny  tree ! — you  will  en- 

*  Shepsters  —  starlings. 
259 


260 

joy  it,  Mr.  Clinton!  Dinah  and  I  say  he  likes  our  Mar- 
ian." 

"I'm  sure  he  does,"  said  Dinah,  acidly  .  .  .  "ay  they  do 
look  soft  when  they're  together !  but  you  won't  be  here,  Mr. 
Clinton." 

"For  shame!  how  can  you  talk  so?  Hold  thee  clacking 
tongue,  lad !"  broke  in  Mrs.  Gisburn.  "Dinah !  stop  laffing 
this  minute !" 

But  Kirk  himself  was  laughing — to  help  cover  Marian's 
confusion.  She  had  gone  crimson,  and  glanced  angrily  at  her 
tormentors.  That  was  just  what  Dinah  had  wished  to  effect. 
She  looked  back  mockingly  at  Marian — saying  in  a  loud  whis- 
per to  Jim — "Just  look  how  red  she's  gone !  I  knew  it  was 
true!" 

Marian  replied  hoarsely  and  fiercely — "You'd  like  to  get 
him  yourself !  And  you  can  have  him  if  you  want  him  for 
aught  I  care ;  but  he'd  not  look  at  you." 

"Fie !  Marian !  Ay,  how  rude  she  is !"  laughed  Dinah. 
Marian's  hasty  words  painfully  jarred  Kirk,  and  the  girl 
had  seen  this.  She  could  have  cried  with  vexation. 

Jim,  rather  sorry,  turned  his  fun  on  Dinah.  "Told  me  his 
arm  fair  ached  wi'  Dinah  clinging  to  it  all  th'afternoon  like 
ony  little  bat!  eh,  Dinah?  Ay!  tha't  a  sticker!  Tha't  none 
loose  him,  would  thee,  Dinah?  Poor  lad  looked  fair  worn, 
Mr.  Clinton !  so  a'  sed,  'Dinah,  lass,  thee'll  weeare  out  sleeve 
o'  his  new  coat !'  Arthur  looked  some  relieved,  I  tell  thee,  Mr. 
Clinton,  when  she  loosed  him!  He  wur  that  frightened  ov 
her!" 

"Ay,  Mr.  Clinton,"  said  Mrs.  Gisburn,  despairingly.  "Ye 
don't  know  our  girls,  they  take  no  notice  of  me  now." 

Ruth,  sitting  beside  Kirk,  looked  deprecatingly  at  Jim  and 
Dinali  and  said  to  Kirk — while  the  others  continued  talk- 
ing— 

"You  must  not  mind,  please,  what  they  say;  they  don't 
really  mean  all  they  say,  it's  not  true,  especially  all  that  Jim 
says,  but  they  are  so  excited  about  Easter,  and  the  'walking,' 


THE    BORN    FOOL  261 

and  mother  says  we  may  all  go  to  Pendle  Hill,  and  we  should 
be  so  proud  if  you  would  come  with  us,  if  you  would  care 
to  ?  that  is,  if  you  stay  for  Easter ;  it  is  so  fresh  there,  and 
the  trees  and  woods  are  quite  like  those  you  tell  us  of,  I  am 
sure,  but  not  so  grand,  of  course.  Could  you  not  stay  one 
day  with  us  ?  and  then  go  away  ?"  pleaded  she,  ingenuously. 

Kirk  thought  a  moment. 

"Thank  you,  Ruth,  I  will  stay  Easter  with  you." 

"Mother !  Mother !  he  is  coming  with  us  to  Pendle !"  ex- 
claimed Ruth,  very  much  pleased,  but  Mrs.  Gisburn  had 
qualms. 

"Ruth,  you'd  no  right  to  persuade  Mr.  Clinton.  His  own 
folk  and  his  sister  will  be  wanting  him  for  sure  ?" 

"Oh,  no,  Mrs.  Gisburn,  I  shall  enjoy  it  very  much;  be- 
sides, I  thought  of  going  fishing  to  Wales,  this  Easter." 

"Ay,"  said  Mrs.  Gisburn  reprovingly,  "young  men  do 
waste  their  money!  I  thought  you'd  have  stayed  here  or- 
else  gone  straight  to  your  home — Eee !  the  like  of  it,  gurls ! 
To  thrape  all  yon  hundred  of  miles  and  back  for  a  morsel 
o'  fish  not  weighing  but  a  few  pounds !" 

"Things  pass  into  their  opposites  by  accumulations  of  in- 
definable quantities,"  said  Landor. 

Kirk's  reserve  and  separateness  of  mind  had  frequently 
repelled  and  hurt  the  sisters  during  the  first  few  months  of 
his  stay  with  them ;  but  now  he  had  come  of  liking  to  call 
them  by  their  Christian  names,  but  still  Mrs.  Gisburn  and 
the  girls  never  dreamt  of  addressing  him  by  other  than  his 
surname.  Quite  frequently  upon  the  dark  winter  evenings 
he  had  taken  them  walks  along  the  great  upper  valley  road 
— two,  and  sometimes  all  three  sisters  together.  To  obtain 
those  walks  he  had  crossed  swords  with  Mrs.  Gisburn.  He 
had  made  these  girls — young  women — take  his  friendly  arms 
when  nights  were  frosty  and  roads  extremely  slippery.  On 
the  first  occasion  Ruth  was  on  his  left  and  Marian  linked 
upon  his  right.  This  hacl  given  him  happiness — a  brotherly 


262  THE    BORN    FOOL 

feeling  in  the  dependence  on  himself  of  Ruth — a  novel  pleas- 
ure in  feeling  the  warm  soft  arm  of  Marian  held  firmly  in  his 
own. 

On  that  first  winter  night-walk  Marian  had  been  silent  a 
little  time,  and  then,  physical  nearness  bringing  mental  in- 
timacy, she  told  him  they  had  thought  him  at  first  the  proud- 
est, most  standoffish  young  man  they  had  ever  met.  At  this 
he  was  astounded;  he  thought  himself  socialistic,  and  was 
profoundly  unconscious  of  his  own  aristocratic  glance  and 
bearing. 

Marian  then  had  said  gratefully  in  her  best  manner,  in- 
tuitively speaking  like  Ruth, 

"But  now  we  know  you  better,  we  think  you  ...  we  think 
you  .  .  .  are  the  nicest  young  man  we  ever  met !  even  Dinah 
says  so." 

It  was  so  easy  and  self -pleasing  to  be  a  perfect  god  of  intel- 
lect, learning,  and  grace,  among  those  girls  simple  of  even 
moderately  fashionable  life  and  learning,  girls  who  had  never 
seen  London,  never  been  to  a  ball,  or  even  to  some  small  great 
person's  "At  Home."  But  Kirk  was  unconscious  of  his  po- 
sition and  his  state  of  mind.  He  was  flattered,  pleased,  and 
the  affectionate  and  generous  nature  of  his  youth  had  quite 
obscured  his  first  clear  criticism.  A  powerful  protective  feel- 
ing for  these  girls  grew  in  him,  and  he  meditated  further 
combat  with  their  step-mother.  He  had  re-read  Robert 
Blatchford's  "Merry  England,"  and  now  he  perceived  very 
clearly,  as  he  thought,  the  waste  of  energy  caused  by  polished 
furniture,  mouldings  which  required  dusting  every  day,  bright 
metal  surfaces,  fire  irons,  and  all  household  things  that  de- 
manded the  labour  of  tired  girls — to  keep  them  in  that  fool- 
ish state  of  perfection  that  Bruside  society  and  Mrs.  Gis- 
burn  so  rigidly  enforced.  To  Kirk,  these  things  now  ap- 
peared as  cruel  idols,  and  Mrs.  Gisburn  and  all  old  women 
as  their  obsessed  priests.  In  his  warm,  indignant,  youthful 
heart,  he  felt  increasing  pity  for  these  girls.  He  now  read 
frequently  to  them,  especially  when  he  saw  they  were  physi- 


THE    BORN    FOOL  263 

I 

cally  dead  beat.  He  had  quickly  and  with  internal  fun  dis- 
covered the  heel  of  Achilles  in  Mrs.  Gisburn — he  saw  the  male 
human  being  was  her  fetish,  and  that  she  bowed  to  it — to 
himself ; — and  his  bright  eyes  had  twinkled  at  Marian  when 
he  first  discovered  this.  Mrs.  Gisburn  tolerated  these  forced 
interruptions  of  the  household  sacrifices,  because  Kirk  was  a 
man  of  that  age  of  sons,  when  they  exert  their  greatest  in- 
fluence with  mothers ;  and  then,  too,  he  was  a  kind  of  male 
she  could  not  entirely  understand,  and  his  superior  breeding 
told  with  her  very  much.  Kirk  was  often  quite  aware  that 
she  had  gone  on  herself  rubbing  and  dusting  ostentatiously 
— waxing  a  little  noisy — just  to  shame  her  daughters  into 
helping  her ;  and  the  young  man,  from  the  corner  of  his  eye, 
intercepted  her  furtive  and  indignant  glances  at  Marian, 
Ruth  or  Dinah.  But  he  read  on  sublimely,  putting  all  his 
voice  and  passion  into  these  recitations.  All  three  girls 
eagerly  and  gratefully  took  this  new,  romantic,  and  adroitly 
procured  rest ;  but  Ruth's  pleasure  often  was  but  partial,  be- 
tween fear  of  her  mother  and  a  stern  internal  and  distorted 
sense  of  duty;  on  the  other  side,  her  thirst  was  keen  to  hear 
Kirk  read  beautifully  in  those  classics  that  he  and  she  alone 
in  that  family  really  appreciated.  When  he  had  finished,  the 
others  would  say  they  had  liked  that  line,  that  sad  bit,  or  they 
cared  for  this  verse,  but  what  Ruth  said  was  worth  hearing, 
and  she  discussed  with  Kirk  as  with  an  equal — to  his  secret 
surprise,  for  he  thought  persistently  that  Marian  alone  could 
enter  most  into  those  delights  .  .  .  but  then  she  was  always 
the  most  physically  tired  out,  decided  he. 

On  Good  Friday  afternoon  Arthur  Clegg  arrived  from 
Bradford.  He  had  cycled  over,  and  the  brown  canvas  case 
which  filled  the  space  between  the  cycle-framing  contained 
his  entire  kit  for  Easter.  He  turned  it  out  gleefully  on  the 
front  parlour  table.  Kirk  saw  with  astonishment  a  dozen 
scores  of  Gilbert  and  Sullivan.  When  he  saw  the  music  he 
had  a  feeling  which,  months  later,  he  knew  was  jealousy. 
Little  else  seemed  to  have  been  brought  by  Arthur,  and  Kirk 


264  THE    BORN   FOOL 

felt  a  strange  evil  pleasure  in  the  absence  of  toothbrush,  col- 
lars, handkerchiefs  and  night  apparel.  Quickly  the  piano 
was  opened  by  Marian,  and  Arthur  at  once  sat  down  before 
the  pages  of  the  "Mikado." 

Some  twenty  minutes  later  Mrs.  Gisburn  entered  the  room, 
her  face  a  little  red,  her  thin  lips  compressed. 

"I'm  right  glad  to  see  ye,  Arthur,  but  it's  Good  Friday, 
and  I  can't  let  ye  play  them  light  things  .  .  .  whatever 
would  folk  say?  I  could  hear  it  in  the  road.  Ye  can 
play  them  to  your  heart's  pleasure  to-morrow,  and  there's  no 
one  likes  a  bit  of  music  better  than  me  and  the  girls ;  so  ye'll 
excuse  us  to-day."  All  this  was  said  very  firmly. 

"Oh,  it's  all  right,  Mrs.  Gisburn,  I'll  play  something  sacred, 
if  I  can  find  it." 

While  their  stepmother's  back  was  turned  he  made  a  grim- 
ace at  the  two  girls.  Kirk  himself  was  vexed  at  the  inter- 
ruption, for  Arthur  played  and  sang  tunefully  and  with  vig- 
our, and  Kirk  had  forgotten  his  first  impressions — for  the 
music  was  so  refreshing  and  delightful. 

"All  religions  are  idiotic,"  thought  he.  "It  is  exactly  like 
my  own  kill-joy  father."  Ruth  alone  timidly  agreed  with 
her  stepmother,  but  said  nothing.  Kirk  himself  now  went 
out  for  a  short  walk. 

Soon  after  Mrs.  Gisburn  had  left  the  room — taking  with 
her  Ruth  to  aid  in  the  preparation  of  tea — she  again  heard 
the  piano  going  briskly,  and  listened — just  in  time  to  hear  a 
seven-fold  fortissimo  "Amen."  She  stood  again,  for  she 
thought  she  heard  giggling — but  she  believed  herself  mis- 
taken. Arthur,  persuaded  by  Jim  and  Dinah,  continued  to 
play  opera,  and  each  page  or  so  was  ended  most  cleverly  by 
a  loud  "Amen,"  or  with  the  final  verse  of  some  well-known 
hymn.  Dinah  each  time  smartly  opened  the  parlour  door  to 
let  out  the  "Amens,"  and  promptly  closed  it  to  confine  the 
echoes  of  the  "Gondoliers." 

Kirk  took  his  brief  walk  and  returned.  He  changed  his 
things,  and  then  went  to  join  the  others.  Pausing  outside 


THE    BORN    FOOL  265 

the  door  he  heard  loud  laughter.  He  turned  the  door  handle, 
and  as  he  entered  he  saw  Arthur  throw  a  cushion  at  Marian 
who  lay  back  on  the  sofa,  laughing  a  trifle  thickly.  Kirk 
saw  her  flushed  and  laughing  face,  beneath  her  arm  raised  in 
defence. 

He  had  received  a  shock.  His  face  betrayed  a  change  of 
feeling,  Marian's  face  also  changed  as  she  saw  him.  Arthur 
glanced  sharply  from  Marian  to  Kirk,  and  his  expression 
hardened.  He  muttered  to  himself  angrily,  "Oh  my!  Oh! 
we  are  important !  can't  she  do  what  the  hell  she  likes  ?" 

Arthur  Clegg  did  not  possess  sufficient  means  to  marry. 
The  obstacle  he  chafed  against  was  the  avarice  of  his  parents ; 
and  then,  indeed,  to  curb  his  desires  further  was  his  own 
strong  love  of  money.  Both  his  parents  he  knew  with  cer- 
tainty would  resent  most  seriously  his  marriage  to  a  girl 
who  had  "no  brass."  He  told  his  mother  he  was  going  to 
Scarborough  to  join  a  male  friend,  and  he  said  no  word  of 
the  Gisburns.  He  would,  he  knew  positively,  be  turned  out 
of  house  and  home  if  he  made  such  a  marriage  against  his 
father's  wish.  Yet  for  three  years  he  had  sought  with  pleas- 
ure the  hearth  of  the  Gisburns,  and  there  he  had  made  mild 
love  to  Marian.  He  grew  more  and  more  uncomfortable  be- 
tween love  of  money,  love  of  liberty  and  desire  of  Marian. 
For  many  years  now  he  had  worked  long  hours  with  his 
father,  who  was  a  yarn  merchant  in  a  rather  small  but  per- 
severing way.  If  Arthur  left  his  father,  and  took  similar 
work,  his  salary  would  be  insufficient  for  marriage  and  thor- 
ough enjoyment  of  himself;  and,  very  much  more  serious,  he 
might  lose  his  father's  fortune.  Arthur  therefore  awaited 
with  a  calculating  impatience  the  failure  of  his  father's  pre- 
carious health  and  his  consequent  retirement.  The  son 
would  then  carry  on  the  business,  and  money  would  be  more 
plentiful.  He  had  a  fair  opinion  of  his  father's  acumen  in 
business,  and  for  his  mother  he  felt  an  ordinary  young  man's 
affection,  plus  some  fear  of  her  tenacious  will  and  future 
interference. 


266  THE    BORN    FOOL 

Mrs.  Gisburn  had  long  looked  on  young  Clegg  with  great 
favour.  In  years  past,  she  had  visited  his  parents,  for  they 
were  old  friends  of  her  husband,  but  of  late  years  Arthur 
alone  had  maintained  the  connection  between  the  families, 
but  it  was  now  six  months  or  more  since  he  had  seen  the  Gis- 
burns. 

His  weakening  attraction  revived  when  he  received  Ruth's 
note  of  invitation,  for  she  had  mentioned  Kirk ;  indeed,  she 
had  written  nearly  a  page  about  "Mr.  Clinton."  So  Arthur 
instead  of  going  to  Scarborough  accepted  the  Gisburns'  invi- 
tation; and  made  no  mention  at  home  of  his  changed  desti- 
nation. 

On  Monday  morning  before  the  Gisburns'  house  stood  a 
wagonette  harnessed  to  a  pair  of  good  horses.  Kirk  of  his 
own  intention  took  a  seat  beside  Marian.  On  her  left  sat 
Arthur  Clegg.  Kirk  felt  no  uncomfortable  social  incongruity, 
for  he  was  the  only  member  of  his  caste  in  the  district,  ex- 
cept the  parsons  and  the  doctors.  He  was  in  Rome  and 
found  the  pleasure  of  youth  in  doing  as  the  Romans.  It  was 
all  very  amusing,  very  novel.  His  sense  of  mirth  and  hu- 
mour were  constantly  tickled  by  the  driver's  free  conversation 
with  Mrs.  Gisburn,  by  the  fact  of  himself  bowling  along  a 
la  char-a-banc  in  the  middle  of  a  kind  of  Bank  Holiday 
turmoil.  The  crowds  of  uncouth  people  in  the  streets  though 
all  dressed  in  black  were  full  of  gaiety,  and  shouted  many 
a  warm  and  pithy  greeting  to  the  merry-making  family.  And 
then,  too,  Kirk  felt  a  desire  to  win  the  affection  of  these 
people  with  whom  he  lived,  to  be  really  one  of  them  when 
with  them.  He  had  not  analysed  these  feelings.  His  warm 
enthusiastic  heart,  curiously  inexperienced,  and  so  uncon- 
scious in  matters  of  the  heart,  was  now  expanding  and  pre- 
paring to  add  to  the  worship  of  flowers  and  nature  the  ador- 
able form  and  soul  of  woman ;  of  which  he  knew  nothing. 
Never  had  he  kissed  any  girl  but  his  sister.  He  had  never 
understood  or  questioned  the  meaning  of  his  boyish  attraction 


THE    BOKN   FOOL  267 

for  Maud  Nugent — lie  had  never  romped  with  young  girls. 
He  was  now  far  removed  from  that  southern  beauty  and 
entrancement  of  downs  and  fields  and  skies  and  flowers ;  and 
his  immense  stored-up  human  affections  began  to  put  forth 
arms  to  enclose  what  lay  around  and  to  hand. 

He  was  very  happy  in  this  wagonette,  he  was  in  the  high- 
est of  spirits,  frequently  laughing  and  making  funny  re- 
marks and  he  felt,  in  his  neat  puttees  and  his  excellent 
tweeds, — yes,  and  especially  intellectually, — he  felt  a  su- 
preme superiority  over  all  Arthur  Cleggs,  and  he  knew  by 
sure  instinct  that  Marian  thought  the  same.  A  magnetism 
passed  through  Kirk  when  he  took  his  seat  so  closely  touch- 
ing her.  This  morning  she  looked  rosy  and  radiant,  in  some 
new  way  she  was  transfigured.  Her  blue  eyes  were  full  of 
thought,  and  though  she  smiled  and  laughed,  yet  she  was 
serious,  for  between  herself  and  Kirk  she  was  aware  all  the 
time  of  a  tense  emotional  union.  In  this  mood  she  especially 
attracted  Kirk,  and  as  he  felt  the  occasional  slight  pres- 
sure and  warmth  of  her  limbs  against  his  own,  a  pure  and 
strange  pleasure  filled  him.  To  him  the  contact  was  as 
though  he  were  privileged  to  hold  her  hand.  But  while 
he  sat  there,  amid  the  jollity,  he  suddenly  imagined  he  took 
her  face  in  both  his  hands,  looked  affectionately  into  the 
blue  eyes,  and  kissed  her  on  the  brow.  He  abandoned  him- 
self to  these  overpowering  fancies.  Women,  it  was  revealed 
to  him  at  this  moment,  were  the  utter  miracle  of  beauty  and 
mysteriousness ;  he  could  not  understand  what  it  was  that 
attracted  him  so  deeply,  nor  what  caused  that  high  rever- 
ence that  filled  him  when  he  was  very  near  to  them  and 
that  now  aroused  a  confusion  of  beautiful,  chivalrous,  poetic 
and  fervent  feelings.  His  generosity,  his  tolerance  for  all 
kinds  of  people,  his  intellect,  the  realness  to  him  of  spir- 
ituality, he  now  saw  had  all  been  growing  wonderfully  aug- 
mented, because  at  last — thought  he — "I  understand  women." 
He  became  unconscious  for  a  moment  of  where  he  was.  Life 
was  immense  and  glorious ;  he  perceived  the  whole  earth,  its 


268  THE   BORN   FOOL 

seas,  its  climates,  the  mountains  and  plains,  the  high  passes, 
the  wild  hut  in  the  deepest  tropical  forest.  He  perceived 
the  whole  human  race  toiling,  forbearing,  suffering,  loving, 
hoping,  doing  things  splendid,  dying  in  hope,  living  again, 
better,  finer,  finer  still — and  he  too  was  one  of  them!  his 
very  own  self! 

"I,  likewise,  verily  am  one  of  you."  He  was  thinking  this 
fervently  when  his  soul  as  it  were  arrived  back  in  his  body. 
He  secretly  sent  out  his  thoughts  to  those  among  whom  he 
sat,  and  he  felt  greatly  this  intimate  consciousness  towards 
Ruth  and  Marian.  He  desired  to  see  these  two  dearly  love 
each  other  in  the  future.  A  gladness  and  a  great  change 
filled  him. 

In  the  past  months  he  had  too  clearly  realised  that  the 
sweet  flowers  bloomed  only  for  themselves ;  the  love-filled  lark 
sang  only  for  himself,  and  for  his  little  hen  sitting  upon  her 
eggs  amid  the  clover !  but  not  for  him,  Kirk.  No.  And  since 
then  he  had  felt  at  times  like  a  miserably  excluded  lover,  shut 
out  absolutely  from  the  one  he  so  loved — from  exquisite 
Nature,  and  her  pure  allurements  which  had  drawn  him  into 
those  shining  bodiless  dreams,  in  the  woods  and  fields,  and 
among  the  wild  flowers  and  sweet  places. 

But  now  he  saw  suddenly  all  this  divine  sweetness  linked 
indissolubly  to  man,  through  woman. 

Men  it  was,  and  not  women,  who  had  made  the  desolation 
and  the  hideousness  through  which  they  drove.  But  how 
touching,  how  womanlike,  were  the  little  signs  of  Spring 
that  revealed  themselves  bravely,  with  faith  and  hope,  among 
the  begrimed  stones  and  traffic,  even  in  this  bitter  climate. 

For — while  a  stone  was  picked  from  the  hoof  of  the  leader 
— Kirk,  Marian,  and  Jimmie  descended  for  a  minute.  Kirk 
went  back  a  few  yards  with  Marian  and  they  looked  down 
together,  through  dirty  iron  railings,  into  a  pure  white  crocus 
which  had  risen  up  and  opened  itself  in  a  black  patch  of  cold 
and  dusty  garden.  Secretly  Kirk  thought  how  like  were 


THE    BORN    FOOL  269 

the  fates  of  these  two,  the  girl  and  the  flower.  His  heart 
yearned  over  each.  "Thank  God,"  passionately  thought  he, 
"Bruside  is  far  sweeter  and  fresher  than  these  abominable 
large  towns,  these  densely  packed  and  befouled  valley-bot- 
toms." 

They  crossed  the  Yorkshire  border,  descended  for  two 
miles,  then  turned  southwards  and  soon  entered  a  bleak  flat 
northern  countryside,  at  first  almost  treeless.  They  were  in 
Lancashire.  Far  ahead  in  the  blue  and  brown  plain  they 
discovered  Clitheroe,  rising  up  like  a  distant  castle. 

"Fancy!  Marian!"  began  Kirk,  intimately,  looking  for- 
ward at  Clitheroe,  while  Ruth  also  leaned  to  hear  him — "I 
used  to  sit  in  Church  at  my  home,  at  Severnly,  when  I  was 
a  little  boy,  and  read  the  word  Clitheroe  over  and  over  again. 
It  was  cut  on  a  tablet  in  the  wall.  Above  was  the  coat  of 
arms,  coloured  and  gilded,  and  below  you  read  the  Latin 
words — 'Cogito  ergo  sum' — 'I  think,  therefore  I  exist' ;  then 
under  that,  'To  the  memory  of  Ernestine,  the  beloved  daugh- 
ter of  Stuart  and  Jeannie  Falconer,  who  died  in  her  twenty- 
first  year,  at  Clitheroe.'  ...  I  wonder  who  she  was.  ...  So 
she  is  somewhere  near  here,  and  her  tablet  is  away  down 
at  my  home.  ...  I  wonder  if  she  knows  we  are  thinking 
of  her?  ...  I  never  thought  I  should  one  day  be  actually 
going  to  Clitheroe.  Suppose  some  one  had  said  to  me  then, 
— 'In  thirteen  years  time  from  to-day  you  will  be  driving  to 
Clitheroe  .  .  .  with  some  one  beside  you.' ' 

"What  strange  thoughts  you  have,  Mr.  Clinton" — said 
Ruth — "I  never  knew  any  one  who  was  like  you." 

After  Clitheroe,  they  entered  the  one-time  demesne  of  an 
abbey.  Fine  trees  closed  in  the  outlook.  The  sound  of  wild 
pigeons  in  a  deep  larch  covert  filled  Kirk  with  glamour. 

"I  once  wrote  a  little  poem  about  that  dear  wood-sound," 
murmured  he  to  Marian. 

"What!  did  you?  well!  there! — I  thought  you  were  like 
that !"  said  Marian. 


270  THE    BORN   FOOL 

To  her  this  seemed  exceedingly  romantic — actually  to  write 
poetry ! 

"I  have  it  with  me,  Marian,  in  that  big  box ;  I'll  give  it  to 
you,  if  you  like?" 

"Oh,  I  should  like  it,  awfully,  to  see  what  you've  written, 
I'll  bet  it's  nice!" 

Kirk  laughed  merrily,  well  pleased  and  flattered. 

They  arrived  at  a  grey  stone  farmhouse.  The  inmates 
were  old  friends  of  Mrs.  Gisburn.  Kirk  spent  some  time 
with  a  child  who  made  wonderfully  faithful  heads  of  pigs  and 
cows  and  sheep  and  horses,  all  from  a  lump  of  soft  and  very 
dirty  dough ;  and  he  greatly  interested  the  mother  when  he 
asked  her  how  long  the  boy  had  done  these  things,  and  told 
her  seriously  that  the  child  had  good  talent  and  should  be 
watched  carefully;  and  Kirk  related  to  his  listener  how 
Goya  had  begun  by  drawing  cows  and  horses  on  the  barn 
doors  of  a  Spanish  farm. 

Arthur,  Kirk,  Jimmie  and  the  sisters,  after  they  had 
lunched,  followed  a  brook  up  through  the  sunny  April  fields, 
towards  a  high  knoll. 

How  celestially  shone  the  bright  new  open  celandines  to 
the  eyes  of  Kirk !  He  threw  a  spell  over  the  girl  who  walked 
beside  him  and  drew  her  within  his  own  enchantment.  He 
told  her  rapturously  of  places  that  he  loved.  Never  before 
had  such  dreams  and  feelings  filled  Marian. 

"The  celandine  is  nearly  the  first  wild  flower  that  opens, 
it's  a  flower  of  the  sun — and  it  means  .  .  .  What  do  you 
think  it  means,  Marian?" — He  looked  into  her  eyes — "It 
means  .  .  .  'Joys  to  come !' ' 

Arthur  and  Dinah,  following  close  behind,  now  caught  up 
with  these  two. 

"Come  along,  Marian !  let's  get  up  top  first !"  cried  Arthur. 
He  caught  one  of  her  hands  and  pulled  her  along,  then 
Jimmie  took  her  other  hand. 

"All  right,  Arthur !"  exclaimed  Dinah.  "I  shan't  forgive 
you  leaving  me  .  .  .  Mr.  Clinton,  do  give  me  a  hand  up, 


THE    BOKN    FOOL  271 

there's  a  dear,  you  look  kind  enough.    Oh,  I  am  so  tired !" 

Kirk  laughed  at  her  familiarity  and  took  the  proffered 
hand.  They  followed  the  others  at  a  more  leisurely  pace,  and 
after  going  only  a  few  yards  Dinah  withdrew  her  hand  to 
adjust  her  hat.  What  she  had  just  said  to  Arthur  was  quite 
true,  for  she  loved  him  a  little  in  secret — but  would  have 
preferred  Kirk. 

When  near  the  summit,  of  the  hill  Dinah  left  Kirk  and 
hastened  upwards.  He  stood  still,  turned  round  and  looked 
dreamily  out  over  the  wide  view.  A  few  minutes  later 
Dinah  and  Marian  were  rushing  down  the  steep  slope.  Ar- 
thur galloped  between  and  pulled  them  on  with  a  strong 
grip.  He  and  Dinah  laughed  breathlessly  as  they  flew 
down,  but  Kirk  saw  Marian  was  pale,  her  mouth  slightly 
open,  and  that  she  nearly  fell  at  each  leap.  Instantly  he 
rushed  after  them — caught  them  up — and  seized  her  as  he 
ran — she  freed  her  hand  from  Arthur's  as  she  panted  "Don't ! 
Don't!" — and  Kirk  swung  her  gradually  round  to  a  stand- 
still. She  sank  down  fainting.  Kirk  knelt  by  her  and  deftly 
unbuckled  her  belt. 

As  she  recovered,  Arthur  and  Dinah  came  panting  back  up 
the  slope  and  stood  beside  her.  Kirk  spoke  hotly  to  Arthur. 

"You  should  not  have  done  that.  You  must  know  she's 
not  fit  to  run  like  that." 

"Pooh!  Mr.  Clinton,"  calmly  said  Arthur — between  his 
own  pantings — "Marian's  only  out  o'  breath.  We've  run  to- 
gether, down  this  broo,  long  before  ever  you  came  near !" 

A  sense  of  invincible  strength  and  rivalry  filled  Kirk.  He 
said  almost  rudely,  addressing  Arthur  as  though  he  were 
speaking  to  a  little  boy — "Then  you  should  understand  her 
better  than  you  do." 

"I'm  all  right  again,  now,"  said  Marian,  faintly. 

She  took  a  hand  of  each  young  man,  and  was  helped 
slowly  to  her  feet. 


272  THE    BORN   FOOL 

"I  must  have  got,  I  think,  a  weak  heart,"  murmured 
Marian. 

"You !  you  big  strong  thing !"  contemptuously  cried  Dinah 
— "Ay !  she's  always  pretending  she's  something  the  matter ! 
She's  lazy,  that's  what  it  is."  And  Dinah  laughed  unkindly. 

This  displeased  both  young  men. 

"Walk  back  with  me,  Marian,"  gently  said  Arthur,  linking 
her  arm  in  his.  He  had  much  more  aplomb  with  girls  than 
had  Kirk. 

But  Kirk  was  not  disturbed  or  jealous,  he  knew  intuitively 
that  he  was  far  more  powerful  than  Arthur,  in  affecting  this 
girl,  if  he  wished  so  to  do,  though  as  yet  he  had  not  put 
such  desires  into  definite  thought.  But  this  feeling  of  power 
gave  him  great  unconscious  pleasure.  Then,  too,  there  was 
something  astir  in  him  that  was  infinitely  sweeter  than  that 
feeling. 

"Besides,"  thought  he  to  himself — silently  addressing  Ar- 
thur— "she  is  much  nearer  to  my  kind  of  spirit  than  she  will 
ever  be  to  yours." 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE  spring  and  autumn  were  always  short  and  fleeting 
times  at  Bruside. 

The  summer  of  three  months,  very  warm  though  often 
cloudy,  had  for  some  weeks  swept  a  hot  wind  across  the  moors. 
To  Kirk,  now  reading  Turgenev,  the  rapid  change  from  cool 
weather  seemed  like  the  sudden  summer  heat  of  Russia. 
Shawls  had  heen  discarded,  windows  were  daily  set  wide 
open,  and  the  hawkers  brought  strawberries,  and  shouted 
through  the  open  doorways  of  the  houses.  Marian's  face  at 
first  had  glowed  with  colour,  and  her  white  blouse  showed 
the  smooth  neck  curving  to  the  rather  broad  shoulders,  those 
deceptive  shoulders  that  so  often  in  women  bespeak  the 
apparent  strong,  but  constitutionally  weak.  Marian  could 
lift  with  her  strong  round  limbs  a  heavier  weight  than  could 
her  sisters,  and  when  a  child  she  often  had  defended  small 
friends  with  her  fists ;  yet  now  she  constantly  and  suddenly 
found  herself  ailing.  A  few  years  before  Kirk  came  to 
Bruside  she  had  suffered  a  number  of  faintings,  and  the 
old  doctor  had  been  called  in  reluctantly  by  Mrs.  Gisburn. 
He  had  noted  the  patient  gravely,  as  one  likely  to  die  of  the 
inherited  family  weakness,  that  he  saw  recurred.  He  had 
then  told  Mrs.  Gisburn,  and  noted  further  that  she  disbe- 
lieved him,  and  that  he  had  offended  her. 

"What!  our  Marian?  Ay,  Doctor,"  smiled  Mrs.  Gisburn 
incredulously — "ye  don't  know  them  as  I  do,"  and  she  had 
smiled  again  with  a  hard  face,  and — as  she  thought — with 
a  superior  knowledge. 

"It's  but  a  girl's  ailment!  I  iaun  treat  all  alike;  if  I 
coddled  yon  I  ha'  to  coddle  th'lot,  and  they'd  sit  round  or 
lig-a-bed  and  laff,  and  where'd  wark  get  to,  doctor?  Ay, 

273 


274  THE    BORN    FOOL 

there's  none  much  amiss  with  th'lass!  It's  all  naught  but 
women's  troubles !" 

Seeing  the  expression  in  Dr.  Rennie's  face,  she  had 
added,  "Tho'  ye  mean  well,  doctor,  I  know,  but  our  Marian's 
t'same  as  mony  lasses,  at  her  time." 

Long  soured  by  over  contact  with  loneliness,  grown  some- 
what indifferent  by  what  appeared  clearly  to  him  as  the 
endless  futility  of  human  life,  Dr.  Rennie  relinquished  his 
secretly  generous  motive  towards  the  girl. 

"She'll  be  weel  out  of  it  before  the  others,"  thought  he, 
grimly,  and  said  good  morning  smilingly,  and  added  hu- 
morously, "I  think  ye  feel  ye  really  didn'a  want  me,  Mrs. 
Gisburn?" 

"Nay,  doctor,  I  just  wanted  to  hear  what  ye  thought,  the 
girl  was  queer-like,  and  Ruth  said  ye' ought  to  see  t'lass,  an' 
fowks  might  gibble-gabble  if  I  didn't  call  ye  in,  and  I  let  her 
persuade  me  t'send  for  ye." 

"Well ;  I  will  say  gude  morning,  Mrs.  Gisburn." 

Mrs.  Gisburn  kept  to  herself  all  the  doctor  had  said. 

The  heat  in  weaving  sheds — those  immense  one-storied 
slate  and  glass-roofed  places — was  now  intense.  The  girls, 
released  from  one  to  two  o'clock,  hastened  home  over  the 
heated  stone  paving,  along  the  hot  street,  between  the  heat- 
reflecting  stone  walls.  They  came  in  sweat-bedewed,  dusty, 
and  sat  down  often  too  exhausted  to  enjoy  the  hasty  meal. 
By  a  most  unfortunate  habit  of  our  land,  this  noontide  meal 
is  made  the  most  substantial  of  the  day.  A  light  mid-day 
lunch,  and  dinner  eaten  leisurely  after  work  is  finished,  would 
be  the  good  thing.  The  mid-day  meal  ended,  the  girls  had 
to  rise  at  once,  put  on  their  hats,  and  hasten  back  to  labour 
in  the  deafening  uproar  and  the  heated,  steamy,  greasy,  and 
vitiated  air. 

Marian  said  nothing  about  it,  she  endured  in  silence,  but 
Jim  and  Dinah  at  the  week-end  told  Kirk  graphically  what 
they  had  all  gone  through  that  week. 

"You  and  mother  have  no  idea  what  it's  like,  Mr.  Clin- 


THE    BORN    FOOL  2Y5 

ton !"  said  Dinah,  with  a  certain  amount  of  unconcealed  con- 
tempt. 

"When  our  breakfast  time  comes,  we  have  to  eat  it  sitting 
on  straps  between  th'  looms,  and  there's  no  blinds  or  nothing 
to  keep  the  sun  out,  and  underside  of  slates  as  hot  as  hot. 
The  butter's  all  oil  o'  th'  bread,  and  cold  bacon's  half  melted. 
Ackroyds  had  to  stop  yesterday  afternoon,  they're  regular 
mill-girls  down  there,  and  they  struck  wark,  they  say  th' 
ovverlooker  swore  he'd  sack  every  one  of  them  as  soon  as  he 
could  get  fresh  hands — if  it  took  him  a  six  months;  but 
yon  rough  wenches  cared  nowt,  and  off  they  all  went, 
'whum.'*  Ay,  and  it  does  weave  bad  this  hot  weather !  Our 
Marian  had  her  looms  stopped  every  minute  the  other  after- 
noon, hadn't  you,  Marian  ?" 

"I  wish  you'd  not  talk  about  it,"  said  Marian,  painfully 
and  wearily;  "let's  forget  it  while  we're  away;  let's  enjoy 
the  week-end,  it'll  be  gone  quick  enough." 

It  jarred  Marian  to  hear  her  humble  means  of  livelihood 
too  freely  spoken  of  before  Kirk. 

These  hardships  aroused  in  Kirk  first  a  scorn,  contempt, 
and  resentment  against  the  God  of  his  fathers,  and  with  that, 
a  resentment  against  the  rich.  Feelings  of  intense  sympathy, 
grief,  and  longing  to  help  all  these  girls  upon  whom  heavy 
burdens  were  laden,  increased  strongly  in  him,  and  he  sought 
especially  how  he  might  help  and  make  happier  Marian  and 
her  sisters.  How  miserably  impotent  he  was.  Oh,  if  he 
had  only  possessed  money!  He  would  have  taken  them  all 
far  away  to  some  of  those  lovely  places  he  knew,  and  there 
established  them  comfortably,  to  live  and  enjoy  themselves. 
But  now  they  were  visibly  being  made  old.  They  were 
visibly  and  cruelly  being  worn  out  before  his  very  eyes. 

How  exceedingly  blessed  to  these  girls  were  the  precious 
summer  Sundays,  especially  to  Marian,  who,  while  she  suf- 
fered physically,  suffered  yet  more  emotionally. 

*  home. 


276  THE    BORN    FOOL 

One  of  these  Sundays  was  a  day  of  fresh  breeze,  occa- 
sional warm  shower,  and  hot  sunburst,  a  day  of  purple  speed- 
ing shadows  climbing  the  steep  flowering  fields  of  dark 
northern  grass — moistened  to-day  by  the  warm  delicious 
showers.  Marian,  temporarily  revived,  brought  into  the 
house  in  her  arms  a  neighbour's  child,  a  small  baby-girl, 
bright-haired  and  very  attractive.  Standing  up  in  the  living 
room  she  leaned  back  on  a  table  and  pressed  her  cheek  against 
the  child's  velvety  skin.  She  put  her  fingers  in  the  baby's 
curly  hair — 

"Love  me,  Jeannie !  love  me,  dear,  love  me !"  said  she,  and 
the  child  threw  her  arms  round  Marian's  neck  and  put  up  a 
rosy  face  which  the  girl  covered  with  kisses. 

This  was  all  seen  by  Kirk.  He  thought  it  most  beautiful, 
and,  as  he  went  up  shortly  after,  through  the  fields  rising 
above  Bruside — past  the  little  mountain  ashes  now  in  scented 
flower — walking  by  himself  in  a  dream,  he  murmured  to 
himself — "Whoever  loves  her  must  love  her  for  ever." 

The  sweet  rain  fallen  in  the  grass  absorbed  its  scents  and 
rose  again,  filling  the  air  with  a  faint  moving  vapour,  laden 
with  honeyed  aroma  of  the  red  clover,  and  a  fragrance  from 
the  fast-growing  grass.  Kirk  drank  in  the  exquisite  exhala- 
tion and  as  he  climbed  over  the  dry  stone  wall  and  entered 
at  the  foot  of  the  highest  and  steepest  field — one  that  ascend- 
ed steeply  and  joined  the  wild  moor — he  looked  up  and  saw 
the  light  pouring  down  the  hillside,  pouring  through  the 
crimson  petals  of  the  sorrel,  and  unconsciously  he  marvelled 
at  this,  for  all  the  undulations  of  the  slope  were  marked  in 
luminous  carmine :  he  raised  his  strong  eyes  until  he  looked 
at  the  sun,  and  at  this  moment  a  vivid  light  suddenly  filled 
his  soul.  He  turned  half  round  with  a  hand  at  his  heart, 
immensely  surprised,  deeply  enraptured. 

"Why!  I  love  her !  I  love  her!  Why!  I  am  in  love!  I 
love  you,  dear !  I  shall  love  you,  dearest,  for  ever ;  and  you 
do  not  know!" 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

A  ONE-STORIED  house  of  double-boarding  had  been 
built  on  the  water-works.  The  foreman,  George  stal- 
labrass,  now  found  this  house  very  hot  and  he  mentioned  it 
in  his  solemn  manner  to  Kirk.  "Them  slates  get  that  power- 
ful 'ot,  Sir,  seems  ac-too-ally  'otter  'ere,  Sir,  in  this  'ere  val- 
ley-bottom than  dahn  in  Kent!  Missis  can't  keep  a  bit  o' 
meat,  or  a  drop  of  milk  but  it  turns,  and  them  bedrooms  ain't 
fit  for  Christians." 

The  place  had  been  roofed  with  slates  brought  from  one  of 
those  pulled-down  cottages.  Kirk  stood  a  moment,  then  be- 
thought him  of  a  remedy, — 

"Stallabrass !  Why  not  whitewash  the  roof  ?  I  believe  it 
will  make  a  great  difference.  It  must,  now  I  think  of  it. 
Whitewash  the  roof  at  once.  Get  whatever  you  need." 

That  same  evening  this  was  done,  and  a  few  days  later 
Kirk  asked  Stallabrass — 

"Well,  another  hot  day,  and  how  is  the  house  ?" 

"Oh !  cow-pletely  improved,  Sir !  It's  most  a-pre-she-ably 
cooler,  you'd  be  sur-prised,  Sir,  it's  a  right  good  tip  that," 
said  he,  and  went  on  to  speak  of  other  matters.  But  Kirk 
was  not  listening,  for  he  saw  a  vision  of  Marian's  weaving 
shed,  and  he  had  made  the  roof  dazzling  white,  and  the  in- 
terior cool,  and  his  youthful  heart  glowed  .  .  .  but  how  to 
accomplish  it  in  actuality  ? 

At  lunch  he  sought  Mr.  Wilkinson  with  questions —  Yes, 
Mr.  Wilkinson  said  he  could  even  find  some  figures,  he 
thought,  about  cost  of  whitewashing ;  he  had  once  done  a  big 
engine-shed  at  Leeds ;  he  calculated  it  made  ten  to  fifteen  de- 
grees of  difference  on  a  hot  day. 

277 


278  THE   BORN   FOOL 

"Really !  Did  it  really  ?"  Yes,  he  would  look  up  his  note- 
books that  night  and  let  Kirk  know  to-morrow  .  .  .  And 
he  asked  Kirk — "The  firm  have  seine  such  job  on  then? 
urgent?" 

"No  ...  I  was  only  wondering  why  no  one  had  thought 
of  whitewashing  the  roofs  of  mills  and  weaving  sheds  .  .  . 
I  notice  all  the  girls  and  women  seem  to  be  suffering  so 
severely,  cruelly,  from  this  heat.  It  even  melts  the  butter 
on  their  breakfast  bread.  It's  hard  enough  at  any  time  in 
those  horrible  places" — Kirk  had  become  rather  warm  and 
earnest — "but  they  must  feel  absolutely  sick  and  stifled  on 
a  day  like  this, — in  fact  I  know  they  do — and  it  so  atfects 
their  health  and  looks  .  .  .  besides,  it  would  pay  the  owners 
to  whitewash,  because  they'd  get  more  work  done.  I  think 
of  suggesting  it  to  several  owners  I  know." 

Wilkinson  was  smiling  in  a  dry  way  and  looking  very 
keenly  at  Kirk.  He  had  heard  rumours. 

"What !  you're  a  bit  of  a  philanthropist,  Mr.  Clinton  ?" 

"No.  Not  at  all,"  said  Kirk,  coolly,  keeping  his  counte- 
nance. 

"I'm  afraid  you'll  get  no  manufacturers  to  see  it  from  your 
point  of  view;  they'll  not  part  with  their  money  for  white- 
washing." 

"But  you  admit,  on  our  estimate,  that  it  will  cost  well 
under  a  farthing  a  square  yard  ?" 

"I  daresay,  Mr.  Clinton,  I  daresay,  and  it  may  cost  even 
less,  but  that  isn't  how  money's  made ;  most  mill-owners  spend 
only  what  they  are  absolutely  compelled  to  spend." 

Mr.  Wilkinson  smiled  at  Kirk  in  a  fatherly  way,  for  to 
him  such  an  idea  seemed  extraordinary  and  chimerical. 

"It  would  need  an  Act  of  Parliament,  Mr.  Clinton.  That 
is  the  only  way!"  said  he,  genially  and  finally. 

"But,"  replied  Kirk  eagerly,  "if  the  people  only  knew  the 
small  cost — a  penny  a  head — if  they  knew  the  great  benefit  ? 
Would  they  not  then  do  it  themselves?  Surely  if  it  were 


THE    BORN    FOOL  279 

forcibly  put  to  them  they  would  act?  Surely,  the  owners 
would  let  them  do  it  themselves  ?" 

"They  might  .  .  .  perhaps;  but  such  things  are  full  of 
difficulty — there  are  hundreds  of  such  things  that  might  be 
put  right,  but  why  aren't  they  ?" 

Kirk  was  silent,  and  Mr.  Wilkinson's  eyes  twinkled. 

"I  think  you  are  one  of  those  young  men  who  imagine 
they  are  going  to  set  the  whole  world  right.  Many  men 
have  felt  like  that  when  they  were  your  age,  Mr.  Clinton." 

Kirk  smiled  resolutely.  A  lion-like  look  came  in  his  grey 
eyes. 

"Well,  you'll  bring  those  figures  to-morrow?" 

"Oh  yes,  I'll  bring  you  the  figures!"  laughed  Wilkinson. 

The  two  men  ruminated.  Mr.  Wilkinson  smiled  to  him- 
self, for  he  culled  an  amusing  idea — young  Mr.  Clinton  was 
just  like  his  old  dog  had  been,  when  it  was  young,  when  it 
used  to  run  five  times  as  far  as  was  necessary,  and  spent 
amazing  energy  on  straws  and  sparrows,  but  now  the  old  fel- 
low went  steadily,  like  his  master,  going  strictly  from  the 
obtainable  to  the  obtainable — but  young  things  were  very 
cheering  and  good  to  watch,  and  he  smiled  secretly  at  Kirk, 
and  felt  warmly  towards  him. 

Kirk's  heart  was  alight  with  determination.  He  would 
see  what  he  could  do,  and  do  quickly.  He  jumped  up  and 
went  out.  That  afternoon  he  would  go  far  up  to  a  niche  in 
the  hills — that  were  sombre  even  to-day  although  so  sun- 
bathed. Kirk  wished  to  see  a  farmer  about  opening  a  stone 
quarry  on  the  edge  of  his  moorland  to  supply  the  works. 
Aikrigg  could  not  supply  sufficient  rubble.  He  now  decided 
that  on  the  way  back  he  would  speak  to  that  small  mill-owner 
who  had  woven  the  big  covers  for  the  engines. 

He  seemed  rather  a  decent  fellow,  better  than  most,  and 
quite  intelligent.  "The  great  thing  is  to  get  some  one  to  do  it, 
the  others  will  follow," — thought  Kirk  to  himself. 

High  upon  the  edge  of  the  moor,  Kirk  three  hours  later 


280  THE    BOKN    FOOL 

was  returning;  he  carried  his  jacket  across  his  shoulder,  for 
the  day  was  so  hot.  The  day  was  indeed  superb.  Kirk 
walked  far  above  all  that  welter  of  minute  human  life — 
down  there  in  the  valley — and,  through  the  faint  haze  and 
blueness,  he  watched  the  mighty  wheeled  rays  of  the  sun 
march  onward,  over  the  far  spread  land  and  hills  and  vales 
and  moors.  His  heart  was  disturbed  by  this  very  splendour 
of  the  sun,  that  was  so  in  contrast  with  the  sorrowfulness 
and  dark  mystery  of  the  toiling  human  life.  For  Kirk  was 
overcharged  by  the  increasing  tender  love  and  pity  he  bore 
towards  Marian. 

As  he  walked,  the  sense  of  her  pure  being  seemed  ever- 
present  with  him.  Ah !  how  beauteous  and  splendid  was  the 
sun !  But  how  cruel !  Yes !  the  sun  was  indeed  the  symbol- 
physical  of  God — the  loving  joyous  sun,  colouring  all  the 
flowers  of  the  earth.  And  Kirk,  gazing  out,  saw  in  strong 
imagination  the  early  morning,  the  sparkling  dew  drying 
from  the  mowing  grass,  the  gloss  upon  the  starling's  speckled 
back  wet  from  the  brook;  he  saw  the  light  glowing  in  the 
golden  buttercups,  the  eager  winds  drawn  of  the  sun  through 
countless  trees ;  the  sunlight  spread  God-like  upon  a  thousand 
million  harvest  fields — tilled  by  man.  He  saw  the  vast  light 
of  the  sun  falling  for  ever  on  the  rolling  earth;  he  remem- 
bered the  vapour  that  ever  rose  invisible  from  the  round 
immensities  of  oceans,  to  become  these  endless  clouds  and 
rains  and  dews. 

But  Marian !  that  dear  pure  one,  his  dear  love,  was  down 
there,  suffering,  and  what  could  he  do?  He  must  protect 
her.  But  misery ! — for  how  could  he  marry  one  so  infinitely 
purer  ?  And  he  loved  her,  loved  her,  and  would  love  her  for 
ever ! — somehow,  by  some  means  he  must  and  would  be  her 
saviour;  but  yet  he  was  not  pure  enough,  unselfish  enough, 
to  offer  himself  to  join  life  with  her.  Some  one  of  truer 
and  more  capable  mind,  a  man  richer,  of  greater  stature, 
surpassingly  nobler  than  himself,  should  marry  with  her. 
.  .  .  But  if  he  never  came?  .  .  .  how  sordid  were  nearly 


THE    BOEN    FOOL  281 

all  the  men  he  had  ever  met,  oh !  and  himself,  compared  with 
women,  with  his  beloved  mother  and  that  pure  one  that  he 
now  loved  in  secret. 

Painful  thoughts,  intense  feelings  of  great  pity,  of  his 
spiritual  inferiority  and  impotence,  overwhelmed  him  as  he 
gazed.  How  weak  he  was !  he  could  not  even  help  one  girl. 
Now  was  clearly  revealed  to  him  the  terrible  difference,  be- 
tween the  sorrowful  wretched  squalor  of  man's  life — and  the 
ordered  splendour  of  nature.  There,  before  him,  in  all  its 
ugliness,  dirtiness,  disorganisation,  hopeless  imprisonment, 
crawled  on  the  human  life — beneath  this  superb  rushing 
wind — beneath  the  lark,  singing  this  minute  with  vivid  joy 
and  sweetness  far  above  him,  while  the  mighty  wheeled  rays 
of  the  sun  marched  over  the  far  spread  land  and  hills  and 
moors — and  oh  so  beauteously,  but  unheedingly,  over  the 
horrible  mills ! 

He  threw  himself  down  on  the  rough  grass  of  the  moors, 
his  head  upon  his  tightly  folded  arms,  his  eyes  shut,  his 
brows  strongly  contracted. 

How  could  there  be  a  God  ?  How  could  there  ?  How  could 
there  be  a  loving  Father,  with  power  to  heal  all  suffering? 
with  power  to  remove  those  we  loved  from  that  hard,  cruel, 
defiling,  destroying,  daily  life  ?  How  could  he  permit  those 
pure  ones  to  be  offended  by  devilish  obscenities,  to  be  beaten 
down  into  silence,  into  that  muteness  of  old  prisoners,  long 
imprisoned,  and  looking  down  fixedly  and  hopelessly.  Al- 
ready he  had  seen  that  look  come  in  Marian's  eyes.  He 
started  up  into  a  sitting  position,  his  soul  filled  with  a  dark 
resentment,  and  a  fiery  resolution. 

"Then  I  will  myself  rescue  her.  Curse  all  those  horrible 
social  laws !  man  only  can  help  man !  Oh !  God  and  Sun,  I 
perceive  what  thou  art!"  exclaimed  he. 

"At  last!"  thought  he,  hurrying  downwards.  "I  do  realise 
that  mankind,  alone,  can  help  mankind." 

On  the  next  day  he  obtained  the  information  he  had 


282  THE    BORN    FOOL 

sought  from  Wilkinson,  and  having  arrived  home  very  early 
he  shut  himself  up  in  his  room,  and  there  wrote  the  draft 
of  a  perfervid  and  vigorous  letter,  headed — "BENEFITS  OF 
WHITEWASHING  WEAVING-SHEDS  IN  HOT  WEATHEB."  He 
wrote  out  a  number  of  copies,  and  selected  a  nom-de-guerre. 
He  then  added  a  short  forceful  covering  note,  to  be  sent  to 
the  editors  of  the  twelve  greatest  papers  of  the  wool  and 
cotton  towns;  and  very  late  on  the  same  evening  he  went 
out  and  posted  these  writings.  The  weather  grew  even  hot- 
ter than  before,  but  during  these  next  few  days  Kirk  was  de- 
lighted to  find  every  one  of  his  letters  published,  and,  what 
seemed  incredible,  his  letter  was  dealt  with  very  favourably 
in  no  less  than  five  short  leaders,  and  further,  in  a  complete 
column  of  the  "Textile  World" — perhaps  the  chief  technical 
paper  of  the  Riding. 

The  Butterworth  girls  kept  the  secret  of  authorship,  for  in 
his  letter  Kirk  wrote  pointedly  of  the  duties  of  husband  and 
sweetheart,  towards  accomplishing  the  reform  he  sought,  and 
the  girls  feared  innuendo,  or  even  injury  of  their  position 
at  the  mill,  where  the  letter  and  leaders  had  at  once  caused 
very  considerable  discussion. 

A  few  days  later,  Mr.  Wilkinson,  with  his  dry  kindly 
smile,  met  Kirk.  To-day,  the  smile  spread  all  over  his  face — 

"So  you've  rushed  into  print,  Mr.  Clinton  ?"  said  he,  quiz- 
zically. Kirk  not  answering  at  once,  he  quoted  from  his  fa- 
vourite author: — 

"  'A  chiel's  amang  ye  takin'  notes, 

An'  faith  he'll  prent  it !' 

"There  is  a  good  old  rule,  Mr.  Clinton,  that  I  think  you 
have  not  heard  of  ?" 

"What  might  that  be  ?"  asked  Kirk,  smiling,  but  pain- 
fully self-conscious. 

"Never  write  to  the  papers." 


THE    BORN    FOOL  283 

"Well !"  exclaimed  Kirk,  hot  and  scornful— "Thank  God 
I  never  heard  of  it !  and  if  I  get  but  one  single  shed  white- 
washed, I  shall  be  immensely  pleased!  Remember  Emerson 
• — 'Nothing  great  or  good  was  ever  done  without  enthu- 
siasm !' ' 

"Oh ;  so  you  are  doing  something  great  and  good  ?" 

Kirk  blushed  slightly. 

Mr.  Wilkinson  felt  stir  his  paternal  interest  in  this 
strangely  boyish  young  man  from  the  South.  He  had  de- 
sired for  several  weeks  to  say  something  to  Kirk,  to  give  him 
a  warning,  to  show  him  to  himself,  and  now  certain  words 
in  that  letter  arose  in  his  mind ;  he  hesitated,  and  then  stead- 
ily looking  Kirk  in  the  eyes,  said  with  some  feeling, 

"Mr.  Clinton,  you  must  be  careful  of  our  Northern  lasses 
.  .  .  they  are  so  very  sharp.  You  must  mind  they  do  not 
entangle  you." 

Kirk  felt  a  deep  uncontrollable  blush  rush  up  until  his 
ears  tingled.  He  could  think  of  not  a  word  to  say. 

"You  must  take  no  offence,  I  mean  none.  But  I  think 
you'll  be  very  attractive  indeed,  to  our  young  women,  Mr. 
Clinton." 

Glancing  again  at  Kirk,  he  then  spoke  in  a  very  matter- 
of-fact  voice — 

"The  big  well's  ready  bottomed  up,  and  Stallabrass  wants 
to  concrete  it  at  once,  while  the  pumps  are  all  right.  We 
better  go  and  look  at  it."  So  they  began  to  walk  towards 
the  well. 

In  the  mind  of  Mr.  Wilkinson  came  a  decision  that  he 
would  discourse  unpleasantly  to  Kirk  of  love  and  marriage 
when  the  opportunity  arose  at  one  of  those  midday  pauses  in 
the  work.  His  own  marriage  had  been  unhappy.  His  wife 
had  not  risen  with  himself,  she  had  hampered  him,  and  still 
hampered  him.  He  held  very  pronounced  views  on  both 
early  and  unsuitable  marriage.  It  was  the  only  bitter  sub- 
ject on  which  he  brooded.  His  life  was  mostly  in  his  work 
and  his  books,  but  he  had  also  a  keen  interest  in  local  politics 


284  THE    BOKK    FOOL 

and  elections;  in  fact  he  had  written  a  pamphlet  or  two, 
and  very  clever  and  satirical  they  were.  At  this  moment  he 
said  to  himself,  "Damn  the  women !  the  young  chap  ought 
not  to  be  living  with  those  wenches." — "I'm  glad  I  spoke  to 
him  ...  if  he  can  only  be  turned  in  time — after  what  I've 
heard,  and  by  his  blush  it  looks  true."  ^ 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

KIRK  was  in  that  high  revelry  of  the  soul  and  body; 
first  love.  His  poetic  and  artistic  perceptions  were 
opening  fully,  his  physical  joy  of  the  earth  and  human-life 
was  vivid.  Never  before,  thought  he,  had  he  been  so  con- 
scious. Secretly,  with  increasing  fervour,  he  loved  Marian. 
She  was  become  ever-present  in  his  thought. 

Late  one  night  about  this  period,  he  was  walking  through 
sultry  air  towards  a  railway  terminus.  The  gloomy  badly-lit 
streets  of  this  great  city  were  not,  thought  he,  like  those  of 
London  at  this  hour,  for  these  already  quickly  grew  deserted. 

Indirectly  through  Brough,  Kirk  had  been  asked  to  join 
the  geologists'  association  of  this  city,  but  being  now  a  Fellow 
of  the  Geological  Institute,  he  had  courteously  declined  this 
lesser  honour.  But  this  evening  he  had  been  to  a  meeting 
of  this  local  association  and,  at  their  request,  had  given  a 
short  lecture  on  the  Cirenhampton  problems.  The  audience 
knew  that  he  was  completing  a  lengthy  thesis  on  the  subject. 

His  lecture  had  been  well  received  by  a  company  of  men 
all  very  much  older  than  himself.  He  was  happy;  he  had 
been  appreciated,  but  this  pleasure  was  only  the  quiet  accom- 
paniment to  the  joy  that  sang  in  his  heart,  to  that  loveliness 
which  had  been  born  in  him  so  suddenly,  on  that  glorious 
morning  only  a  month  since!  He  thought  of  his  own  rap- 
ture, and  he  stood  still  a  moment  to  recall  it  more  vividly — 
and  he  smiled  tenderly,  in  the  dark  street,  as  it  came  upon 
him  again,  that  he,  of  all  men,  was  actually  in  love! 

Since  then  he  had  written  the  first  verses  he  had  tried  his 
hand  on  since  he  was  a  boy,  and  he  cherished  the  words  in 

285 


286  THE   BOKN    FOOL 

.his  heart.  How  dearly  astonished  would  she  be  when  he 
read  them  to  her,  some  day  .  .  .  for  he  felt  quite  sure,  now, 
indeed  he  knew,  that  Marian  loved  him  in  return. 

Lightly-built  but  sinewy,  he  walked  with  ease  of  move- 
ment, shoulders  back,  feeling  the  play  of  healthy  muscle  in 
his  limbs.  Life  was  God-like.  He  felt  a  noble  insight  uplift 
him.  This  then  was  that  wonderful  love !  Marian,  it  was  she 
— beloved  pure  one — whose  influence  had  made  even  the 
people  in  the  street  become  dear  to  him.  At  Cirenhampton 
he  had  one  day  unawares  become  conscious  of  the  sorrow,  the 
wornness,  the  apathy  and  grief,  in  the  many  faces  passing 
him ;  and  not  long  ago  he  had  passed  through  that  dark  hour 
on  the  sunlit  moor — but  now,  in  all  human  faces  he  perceived 
goodness. 

During  this  past  month  he  had  received  many  a  friendly 
glance  from  passing  men,  from  men  he  had  never  before 
seen;  and  from  women  he  had  taken  many  a  pure  and  kind 
unwonted  glance,  and  he  had  with  emotion  returned  them  all. 
The  old  world  was  good. 

"Dear  human  beings !"  cried  he  to  himself,  putting  out  as 
it  were  wide  spiritual  arms  around  them ;  and  a  rich  world- 
brotherhood  filled  him  as  he  strode  easily  along,  between  the 
dark  and  tall  buildings. 

She  it  was  who  made  him  feel  so  heavenly,  pure,  and  gen- 
tle, and  so  filled  with  aspiration.  How  pure  she  was ! 

A  faint  sub-conscious  cloud,  or  warning,  had  come  at  times. 
It  gave  him  that  feeling  he  had  experienced  when  he  heard 
the  laughter  of  girls  carried  up  to  him  at  Junipen  .  .  .  But 
he  had  blown  such  feelings  away!  To-night  he  was  deeply 
happy  in  his  marvellous  secret. 

As  he  approached  a  high  corner  of  buildings  he  suddenly 
stopped.  He  listened.  He  fancied  he  had  heard  a  shriek 
.  .  .  then  again  but  distinct  he  heard  "Oh !" — screamed  by  a 
girl— then  "Help!  Help!" 


THE    BORN"    FOOL  287 

He  hurriedly  turned  the  corner,  looked,  drew  his  breath  in 
and  sprang  forward,  for  he  saw  dimly  ahead  beneath  a  lamp 
a  group  struggling — perhaps  two  hundred  yards  from  him. 
He  raced  forward,  his  grip  tightening  on  his  ash  stick.  He 
noted  two  young  men  stepping  impotently  round,  one  looking 
to  and  fro  uncertainly  for  help ;  then  he  saw  that  a  third  man 
held  a  girl  by  her  bodice  and  shook  her  violently.  As  Kirk 
rushed  up  he  saw  her  clothes  were  ripped  from  neck  to  waist, 
that  she  drooped  speechless,  that  a  second  girl  screamed  and 
wrung  her  hands.  Dropping  bag  and  stick  he  shouted  as  he 
covered  the  last  twenty  yards — "What  is  it,  you  fools !"  He 
saw  cruel  knuckles  pressed  into  the  girl's  naked  bosom — and 
he  jumped  on  his  man  with  a  savage  cry  of  "Loose  her,  you 
swine !"  He  locked  his  left  arm  round  the  man's  neck  and 
struck  with  his  right.  The  man  loosed  the  girl  and  instantly 
gripped  with  Kirk. 

Kirk  had  seized  the  wrist  of  the  defiling  hand;  it  was 
coarse,  hairy,  and  so  big  that  his  long  fingers  could  not  meet 
round  it. 

Thoughts  went  past  like  rifle  bullets.  "One  punch  from 
this  brute  and  I'm  done!"  "Wrestle  him!"  "Spread  your 
legs!" 

Then,  "The  curb!  the  curb!"  shouted  his  brain  with  a 
fierce  joy  as  they  rotated  panting. 

Kirk  made  two  lightning  shifts  of  grip — lower — lower — 
fingers  rasped  across  his  coat:  something  tore — another  sud- 
den shift  and  his  shoulder  was  below — in  the  fellow's  stom- 
ach, both  arms  round  the  heavy  loins — he  heard  sledge-ham- 
ber  blows  on  his  own  ribs — but  he  thrust  furiously  from  his 
thighs — his  opponent  gave  backwards,  faster — faster — Kirk 
shot  a  leg  forward  and  his  man  fell  hard  and  cruel  on  the 
stone. 

Up  again  still  clutching:  tightly  straining:  turning:  the 
man  striking  at  a  disadvantage :  Kirk's  shoulder  low,  lower ! 
legs  well  spread !  wits  flashing !  and  the  power  in  him  of  great 
wrath.  Round  and  round  they  went  into  the  road-centre — 


288  THE    BORN    FOOL 

the  stooping  man  jabbing  savagely  with  a  short  bent  arm — 
a  heavy  blow  struck  down  Kirk's  ear,  it  almost  tore  it,  and 
instantly  a  fury  of  ferocity  seized  him,  he  went  berserk !  he 
desired  to  kill !  he  imprecated  the  man  in  fierce  gasps,  as  they 
struggled,  then  he  rushed  him  backwards  and  hooked  a  leg 
before  the  man's  heel  struck  the  curb.  Kirk  leaped  with  his 
falling  man.  His  weight  on  one  knee  drove  down  on  his  op- 
ponent's chest :  it  forced  the  breath  out.  Kirk  was  gasping, 
"Can't  loose!  the  brute's!  hands  off!"  His  clothes  and  flesh 
were  tearing,  he  went  mad,  twice  drove  his  other  knee  down, 
wrenched  and  rewrenched  his  hands  free  a  second,  seized 
the  head  by  a  coarse  ear,  by  its  hair,  and  dashed  it  on  the 
stone  with  oaths,  once!  twice!  "blast  you!"  thrice! 

The  hands  stopped  pulling  at  his  throat,  he  and  what  he 
would  kill  were  among  the  feet  of  a  dense  mass  of  people. 
They  were  shouting,  treading  on  them,  but  Kirk  clutched 
his  still-resistant  prey,  feeling  for  his  neck,  intent  to  kill.  A 
dozen  hands  were  pulling  him,  and  a  fierce  voice  beat  on  his 
ear-drum — "Let  him  get  up!  Let  him  get  up,  you  coward !" 
— Other  voices  altercated  excitedly  over  them,  men  pulled 
and  shoved  violently — "I  tell  you  he  was  knocking  her 
about ! !"  "Nay ! !  Nay ! !  tha  fooils !  get  t'yoong  chap  oop !" 
"He  got  him  off  her,  I  tell  you !"  "He  is  in  the  right,  I  tell 
you,  damn  you !"  "The  leet  weight !"  "Ee's  ith  reet !"  "Coom 
ert,  Sathdern !"  "Oop  with  thee,  lad ! !"  Kirk  was  dragged 
to  his  feet,  he  saw  the  devilish  dazed  face  of  his  antagonist 
reeling  backwards  surrounded  by  arms  and  gripping  hands, 
and  himself  was  struggling  frightfully  to  reach  that  face,  but 
the  crowd  were  between  them  in  a  moment.  Two  big  men 
had  Kirk  by  the  arms,  and  were  hauling  him  off  urgently 
though  he  resisted  furiously.  As  they  ran  him  along  they 
were  laughing  and  exclaiming — 

"Tha  yoong  bloody  deevil  tha!  Coom  on!  th'  pleece  are 
nigh  on  us!"  "Wer'd  ye  live?"  The  educated  voice  was 
also  at  his  ear.  "Come  on,  my  dear  fellow !  get  away  this 


THE    BORN    FOOL  289 

very  instant  I  you  don't  want  to  figure  in  this  affair, 
you've  quite  settled  your  man !" 

"Eleven — ten — Bruside,"  panted  Kirk. 

The  pace  was  quickened — "T'  stertion !  Coom  on ! !  Bru- 
soide  noomber  six,  tha  knows!  quick,  lads!"  they  were  still 
laughing  as  they  ran, — "ee's  a  reet  un!  E's  a  fair  reet 
lad!!" 

"Thuther's  getten  a  sore  yed !  Haw !  Haw !" 

The  guard  was  holding  his  light  up  to  the  engine  driver 
as  Kirk  hilariously  was  thrust  into  the  last  carriage.  His 
kindly  backers  somehow  had  secured  his  bag  and  stick,  his 
trampled  straw  hat,  and  a  portion  of  his  tie. 

They  threw  them  in  pell  mell.  Kirk  came  to  himself, 
leaned  hastily  out  of  the  window,  saw  he  was  leaving  twenty 
grinning  faces  behind,  and  found  breath  to  say  "Good  night ! 
you  fellows!"  They  laughed — and  so  did  Kirk — as  he  dis- 
tinguished among  other  shouts,  given  in  the  rapid  dialect — 
"Yi !  tha's  a  reet  lad !  but  wadd'11-thee-moother-ser-wen-thee- 
gets-wumm  ?" 

"Tha's  bin  f eightin !  yoong  felly."  Kirk  drew  his  head  in 
and  looked  at  the  speaker — a  man  in  clogs. 

"I  have,"  said  Kirk,  panting  hard,  and  he  dropped  on  to  the 
carriage  seat. 

He  felt  a  glorious  savage  exultation  for  the  first  few  min- 
utes :  but  there  was  soon  a  fly  in  the  ointment.  His  thoughts 
were  running  on — "But  the  swine  deserved  killing."  "You 
should  have  done  it  without  language."  "You  beastly  ani- 
mal !"  "Well,  I  couldn't  help  it"  (indignantly  to  himself) 
^and  I  beat  him."  "That  fellow  thought  you  were  right,  and 
he  was  a  gentleman."  But  a  vision  of  the  girl's  breast  and 
the  horrible  knuckles  in  it  instantly  absolved  him  and  he 
apostrophised  himself,  "Oh,  dry  up,  you  old  woman!"  "I 
wish  I'd  damaged  him  more!"  "I  wish  I'd  smashed  his 
damned  skull !" 

He  felt  very  done  up  now.    The  reaction  was  great    He 


290  THE    BOEN    FOOL 

still  panted,  and  momentarily  brushed  the  hair  from  his  wet 
forehead. 

''What's  yon  i'  thee  'ond  ?"  asked  the  man  in  clogs. 

Kirk  looked  down,  he  found  he  was  holding  tightly  the 
wristband  of  a  shirt,  it  was  strong  "union"  and  quite  clean. 
He  put  it  quietly  out  of  the  carriage  window — "YHiat  an  af- 
fair, tearing  each  other's  clothes,"  thought  he  with  renewed 
disgust. 

Two  of  his  nails  were  broken  and  bled:  all  the  skin  had 
gone  from  his  right  hand  knuckles,  where  they  had  struck 
the  flags.  He  sat  forward  swiftly  from  the  cushions  and 
stealthily  felt  round  to  a  place  on  his  ribs,  it  felt  wet  and 
too  tender  to  touch  again.  He  put  his  hand  over  his  knee, 
for  he  perceived  the  cloth  was  torn,  but  he  lifted  his  hand 
again  because  the  knee  was  so  painfully  abraded.  He  smiled 
grimly  to  himself,  "Well!  the  devil  gave  me  something, 
too!" 

The  man  in  clogs, — having  thoroughly  eyed  Kirk  during 
these  mental  and  physical  manoeuvres — now  settled  himself 
comfortably  back  for  sleep,  and  Kirk  heard  him  murmur  once 
or  twice,  with  a  gentle  reminiscent  enthusiasm,  "Ay!  Ay! 
feightin !  Nay,  there's  nowt  like  it,  lad,  .  .  .  for  foon,  nowt 
like  it,  for  foon!  ..."  and  the  train  gradually  jogged  him 
into  slumber. 

Meanwhile,  Kirk's  hands  had  begun  to  stop  trembling.  He 
was  quite  used  to  that,  for  at  school  when  he  did  so  much 
boxing,  he  had  found  as  did  all  others  that  one  could  not 
write  for  half  an  hour  or  so  after  the  daily  bout.  But  he 
did  now  dislike  to  feel  his  knees  shaking  like  the  ague ;  and, 
to  tell  the  truth,  he  also  felt  he  must  look  a  bit  pale;  and 
suppose  Marian  or  Mrs.  Gisburn  were  sitting  up  when  he 
got  back  ? 

This  reminded  him  of  the  presents  he  had  brought  for 
the  sisters. 

He  hastily  opened  the  bag.     Yes!  how  lucky!  they  were 


THE    BOKN   FOOL  291 

all  right,  three  thin  gold  bangles.  He  wished  to  give  Marian 
a  present,  and  yet  conceal  the  fact  from  others.  So  he 
bought  three  bangles.  But  in  the  shop  he  had  been  unable  to 
resist  selecting  one  just  a  little,  a  very  little  finer,  for  Ma- 
rian. "To  give  her  a  hint  that  I  differentiate  her" — thought 
he,  sparkling  to  himself;  for  he  was  as  certain  as  he  lived 
that  Marian  loved  him;  and  she  would  interpret  the  differ- 
ence. The  other  bangles  were  a  pair. 

He  had  told  the  girls  he  would  bring  them  something,  and 
Mrs.  Gisburn  had  protested. 

But  Jimmie  had  laughingly  supported  him : — "Leave  him 
alone,  mother !"  said  he.  "They  don't  grow  yoong  men  like 
Mr.  Clinton  i'  these  parts,  thee  let  gurlp  and  him  alone, 
mother!" — and  Kirk  had  dashed  off  for  the  train  without 
hearing  more. 

He  thought  they  might  be  waiting  up  as  it  was  Saturday ; 
and  as  he  approached  the  door  he  rubbed  his  cheeks  with  his 
sound  hand,  to  take  any  pallor  from  them.  But  the  tired-out 
girls  and  Jim  were  all  in  bed. 

Mrs.  Gisburn  instantly  noted  the  disorder  of  his  clothes. 
She  insisted  on  examination,  chiding  him  and  telling  him 
he  was  lucky  not  to  have  been  kicked  and  badly  hurt.  "F 
these  parts,  i'  Yarksheer,  they  feights  wi'  their  clogs,  not 
wi'  honds.  Three  or  four  chaps  knocks  a  mon  down,  and 
then  they  all  poonces  him  with  their  clogs !" 

She  soaked  his  shirt  off  his  back  where  it  stuck,  for  the 
buckle  of  his  braces  had  been  knocked  into  the  flesh  and 
had  cut  him  deeply.  With  toil-hardened  hands,  she  rubbed 
liniment  over  his  bruised  and  swollen  back. 

"She  succoured  and  brought  up  Marian,"  realised  Kirk, 
and  impulsively  and  foolishly  he  kissed  her  on  her  forehead 
as  he  said  good  night. 

"Ay  now,  I  do  feel  as  if  ye  wur  me  own  son,  Mr.  Clinton, 
look  you,"  said  Mrs.  Gisburn,  slowly:  delighted,  and  for 
once  feeling  a  little  sentimental. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

KIRK  had  come  to  be  very  well  known  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Bruside,  and,  overtaking  one  day  the  owner  of 
the  mill  in  which  Marian  worked,  the  strong  and  illiterate 
Yorkshireman  spoke  to  him  in  the  friendly  and  familiar 
north-country  manner.  They  walked  on  together  down  the 
big  graded  road,  descending  the  hillside.  Sutcliffe  looked 
down  into  the  valley  where  away  below  could  be  seen  the 
seeming  confusion  of  the  new  waterworks.  His  eye  rested 
on  innumerable  white  dots  that  he  knew  were  navvies  in  their 
clean  Monday  shirts — but  of  the  future  work  he  could  make 
out  no  idea  as  yet,  from  the  confusion  of  deep  excavations, 
lines  of  brickwork,  temporary  light  railways,  the  curious 
overhead  cableway,  the  green  squares  of  new  concrete,  and 
the  massed  materials  that  were  spread  out  there  under  the 
August  sun. 

"Tha't  makkin'  a  rum  commotion  down  yon!  Mesther 
Clenton!"  "But  ar*  hear  tell  thee  knows  what  thee't  oop 
to !  better  than  mony  an  owd  head  ?  Ah  ?" 

Kirk  laughed.  "Oh  I  think  we  are  doing  all  right,  thank 
you,  yes,  we're  pushing  on  fast  while  the  good  weather  lasts." 

"That's  reet  enow — there's  a  main  of  brackley  weather  i' 
Bruside  parts.  .  .  .  Yon  cable's  a  rumfettled  thing!  Ar 
couldn't  think  for  life  ov  me  whatever  tha'd  got  on !  when  tha 
began  putting  it  up.  But  thee  wark's  not  like  mine! 
Weather's  naught  to  us  mill  owners.' 

"Hast  ever  been  in  a  mill,  Mesther  Clenton  ?" 

"I've  been  into  Omerod's  and  several  other  woolen  mills, 
and  into  the  old  Bruside  spinning  mill,  and  a  few  others." 

"Then  thee's  seen  nowt !  Yon  two's  nowt !  Why !  thee  must 

292 


THE   BOKN   FOOL  293 

come  and  see  my  wark;  ay  we've  summat  to  show  if  tha't 
fond  o'  machinery !  Tha  mun  see  my  mills  and  t'wavin  sheds, 
we're  all  oop-t'-derte !  Ay !  Ar  could  put  three  o'  they  little 
mills  i'side  mine !  Axcept  i'  Lonkisheer  tha'll  see  nowt  lake 
it!  Woollens  is  nowt!"  He  stopped  to  get  Kirk's  reply — be- 
cause for  some  occult  reason  Kirk  attracted  north-country 
men,  and  they  desired  his  good  will,  and,  again,  George  Sut- 
cliffe's  whole  heart  was  in  his  mills. 

"Wilt  coom  to-morrer  ?" 

"Well,  let  me  think,"  ...  the  only  thought  that  filled 
Kirk  raised  a  vision  of  Marian,  would  she  like  him  to  go 
and  see  her  ? 

"Very  well,  what  time  shall  I  come?  Ten  o'clock  would 
suit  me  best.  I  always  go  down  to  the  works  before  break- 
fast." 

"Ay,  I  know  that!  young  felly,"  and  Sutcliffe  laughed 
strongly,  and  continued — 

"Till  ihee  come,  we'd  allays  heard  Sathdowns  was  lig-a- 
beds,  but  a  por-et  said,  'one  hafe  th'  world  knaws  naught  o' 
tuther  hafe!'  I'll  be  yon,  ten  o'clock.  O'v  geeten  two  o' 
newest  rowin  frames  fra'  Lonkisheer,  just  set  oop,  th'  new 
ring-spinnin'.  O'r  daur  say  ye've  heard  tell  ov  ?" 

Next  day  Mr.  Sutcliffe  showed  Kirk  the  whole  process  of 
converting  raw  cotton  into  finely  woven  cloth ;  but  Kirk  did 
not  take  in  much,  for  immediately  he  entered  the  mill  he  was 
again  shocked;  first  by  the  heat  and  foulness  of  the  air  in 
the  roving  rooms,  and  next  by  the  sight  of  the  little  girls 
and  boys — the  "half-timers" — clothed  in  dirty  and  grease- 
bespattered  clothing — urgently  carrying  baskets  of  "cops"  on 
their  bent  shoulders.  Some  of  the  children  looked  sturdy, 
coarsely  hardened,  but  many  were  attenuated,  pale  and  old- 
faced.  The  roar  of  the  machinery  deafened  Kirk.  The  hot 
air  was  full  of  fine  fluff.  Narrow  alleys,  but  two  or  three 
feet  wide,  separated  the  immense  rows  of  frames,  flying 
wheels,  belts,  and  spindles;  the  low,  naked  wooden  ceilings 


294  THE    BOKN    FOOL 

were  a  very  network  of  driving  shafts  and  belts,  and  even 
the  woodwork  was  saturated  with  warm  oil  and  grease. 
Grown-up  girls  in  little  more  than  skirt  and  bodice  tended 
and  bent  over  the  mass  of  complex  steel-in-motion  that 
crowded  the  floors.  These,  Sutcliffe  told  Kirk,  were  the  low- 
est-paid women  in  the  place. 

Kirk,  serious-minded,  shouted  loudly  back  in  his  ear: — 
"The  hardest  work  always  seems  the  lowest  paid," — and  Sut- 
cliffe laughed  tremendously,  he  took  it  for  a  great  joke — 
Kirk's  secret  thoughts  would  have  astonished,  even  angered 
him. 

The  exceeding  marvellousness  of  the  machinery,  elaborated 
by  clever  brains  for  over  a  hundred  years — pressed  itself  on 
Kirk — but  oh!  these  girls  and  children!  They  made  him 
feel  ashamed  to  be  clean,  to  stand  there  before  them  in  un- 
soiled  well-cut  clothes;  they  made  him  feel  shame  to  have 
ease  of  bearing,  easy  hours  of  labour  in  the  fresh  air,  and 
good  holidays.  These  women  did  not  look  at  him,  they  had 
no  time  to,  and  he  felt  he  brought  painfully  before  them — 
in  himself,  his  rosy  cheeks  and  fine  clothes — the  bitterness 
and  gross  injustice  of  their  life.  It  was  like  running  and 
racing  exuberantly  before  a  cripple.  He  imagined  himself 
the  cause  of  regrets  and  of  futile  longings  for  a  happier  life. 
He  felt  out  of  place,  uncomfortable,  sad,  impotent.  He  pre- 
tended a  cold-blooded  interest  in  the  wonderful  machinery 
the  while  he  avoided  the  pale  eyes  of  these  driven-ones,  so 
closely  attentive  in  the  presence  of  the  master.  "These  are 
th'  roughest  wenches  we've  got  i'  my  mill,"  shouted  Sutcliffe, 
apologetically  it  seemed. 

"Ar  reckon  to  keep  wavin  shed  select.  Joost  stay  here 
a  minute.  Ar  see  John  wants  me,  thee  kon  look  agen  at  this 
sune-and-planet-motion." 

In  a  few  minutes,  Sutcliffe  returned. 

The  weaving  shed  was  a  room  vast  and  square,  roofed  with 
twenty  long  ridges,  each  of  upright  glass  and  a  slate  slope. 
Countless  iron  pillars  supported  the  roofing.  Inside  the 


THE    BOKN    FOOL  295 

place,  the  lines  of  looms  were  packed  so  closely  that,  as  he 
walked,  Kirk  instinctively  kept  his  elbows  very  close  to  his 
sides.  The  noise  was  quite  incredible.  He  could  hear  noth- 
ing that  was  said,  except  when  very  loudly  shouted  right  in 
his  ear.  The  air  was  much  purer,  but  seemed  intensely  hot. 
The  August  sun  poured  through  the  Windless  glass.  But 
here  everything  was  cleaner  and  brighter,  and  he  perceived 
the  girls  were  of  a  class  superior  to  those  he  had  just  left. 
He  wanted  these  girls  and  women  to  realise  he  set  himself 
no  higher,  as  a  human  being — that  he  was  one  of  them,  the 
sole  difference  was  that  he  had  been  more  lucky.  As  he  went 
along  very  slowly,  careful  of  the  rapid  machinery,  he  was 
smiling,  and  shouted  remarks  to  those  he  passed;  for  he 
knew  they  understood  what  he  said  by  watching  his  lips. 
His  words  were  very  every-day,  but  brotherly  and  kind  in 
their  expression. — "Good  morning !  I  have  come  to  see  your 
kind  of  work" — "I  have  never  seen  weaving  before,  what 
very  clever  work  you  all  do  here!" — "I  hope  it's  weaving 
well  ?"  This  expression  was,  he  knew,  quite  idiomatic. 

He  saw  nearly  every  eye  was  upon  him,  and  all  the  weavers 
were  smiling,  and  he  could  see  they  were  all  talking  across 
from  one  to  another,  with  their  lips. 

Then  Kirk  sighted  Marian  in  one  of  those  narrow  passages 
that  cut  the  massed  machinery.  She  had  looked  at  him  from 
the  centre  of  the  great  room  when  he  first  entered,  and  her 
deep  emotion  caused  her  to  stoop  over  her  work,  and  affect 
indifference.  Down  went  her  head,  and  then  in  a  second 
glance  she  caught  the  lip  words  of  another  girl — "Heigh! 
Marian !  here's  thi  young  feller  come  in  wi'  George  Sut- 
cliffe !"  Her  ears  tingled  in  her  pale  bright  hair.  She  feared 
to  look  up  and  read  the  laughing  innuendoes  of  the  other 
girls.  Kirk  came  towards  her,  followed  by  Sutcliffe  who  was 
looking  round  and  grinning  behind  him ;  and  he  addressed  his 
weavers  silently: — "Ay!  you  wenches!  Ha  daur  ye  say  all 
them  things !  ye' re  makkin'  Marian  and  Dinah  fair  twinge, 
ye  young  huzzies.  T'  yoong  chap's  getten  more  sense  i'  hia 


296  THE    BORN   FOOL 

yed  than  dandle  it  wi*  ony  one  of  ye!"  Then  he  stopped 
and  spoke  crossly — "There  ye  go!  there  ye  go!  two  looms 
stopped!  Ar  never  pass  thee  but  tha's  getten  a  loom  doin 
nought !" 

The  somewhat  haggard  girl  he  addressed  hastily  attended 
to  her  work,  while  Sutcliffe  stood  by  her. 

As  Kirk  approached,  Marian  went  quite  pale.  She  wore 
a  white  apron  from  neck  to  feet,  and  the  scissors  of  a  weaver 
hung  at  her  waist.  To  Kirk,  how  sweet,  proud,  and  dearly 
humble  she  looked !  and  so  pale.  "God  bless  you,  dear,"  said 
he  to  her  with  his  eyes  and  his  heart,  and  to  himself  "I'll 
take  you  out  of  all  this,  please  God  or  not."  Now  he  was 
talking  to  her  of  purpose.  The  whole  great  room  was  looking, 
laughing,  talking,  envying,  scandalising,  as  Marian  well 
knew. — Ah !  but  they  did  not  know  him  as  she  knew  him,  and 
she  raised  her  head  and  looked  round  almost  defiantly. 
Whether  he  married  her  or  not,  she  would  always  love  him ! 

To  Marian,  all  flushed  again,  and  herself  smiling  at  her- 
self, this  was  a  moment  never  to  be  forgotten. 

"Art  bothered  with  inspectors  i'  fhi  wark?"  asked  Sut- 
cliffe when  they  had  gone  outside — and  the  silence  seeming 
extraordinary. 

"Speak  louder!  I  can  hear  nothing!  my  ears  are  full  of 
noise !" 

Sutcliffe  laughed,  and  shouted  the  question. 

"Not  very  much,  the  inspector  of  explosives  troubles  us 
sometimes  about  our  magazines,  you  know." 

"Factry  inspectors  does  nobbut  interfering,  getting  up 
Accts  and  what-not.  Ar  shall  have  to  shuut  oop  mill  one  o' 
these  fane  ders,"  said  Sutcliffe,  very  bitterly,  and  continued, 
"Doost  read  pappers  ?  Yi  ? 

"Then  hast  seed  all  this  tarrel-darrel  about  wate-weshin' 
sheds?" 

"Yes,  I  have  seen  that,  to  me  it  seems  a  sensible  thing, 
both  for  you  and  the  workpeople." 


THE    BORN    FOOL  297 

"Sensible !"  cried  Sutcliife.  "Chaps  as  says  yon  sooart  of 
thing  i'  pappers  knows  nowt  about  wark-people !  Tha't  herd 
o'  Acct  for  carbonic?  Nay?  Sproong  on  us  laast  year — ith 
winter-time — Ventilertion  Acct!  Mester  Clenton,  Ar  coot 
doozens  ov  holes  in  rooves,  and  put  up  all  yon  oogly  things !" 
— He  pointed  scornfully  to  a  number  of  large  ventilator- 
cowls  on  the  roofs. 

"Owd  Robert  Halliwell  coom  to  me,  end  o*  first  day  we'd 
geeten  yon  things  to  wark — he  says : — 

"  'George !'  he  says  to  me,  'I  ha  warken  an'  waven  for  thee 
an  thi  f eyther  twenty-five  years,  han't  I  ?  and  doost  want  me 
to  stop  ?  Doost  want  to  put  me  i'  th'  grerve  ? — If  doossent 
stop  yon  ventilertor  ower  mi  yed,  I  konno  wark  for  thee 
another  hour ! — Om  fair  starved  oll-ower !  arv  nigh  ketched 
me  death  o'  cowd  this  der,  ar  dowbt.' 

"  'Robert/  says  I,  'tha  con  stoof  every  sod  o'  they  oop 
to-morrer,  but  what'rl  inspector  ser?' 

"  'Us  wavers  'ul  terk  blerme  arselves,  George/  says  owd 
Rob, — an  Ar  tell  thee,  Mesther  Clenton,  th'  wavers  stopped 
en  all  oop,  thersens — an'  I  went  straight  an'  shooed  it  in- 
spector when  a'  coom — an'  he  laffed  an'  said — 'All  right, 
Mesther  Sutcliffe,  tha's  complied  with  th'  Acct,  tha'  counno 
do  no  mora' 

"Cost  me  eighty-two  pun  three,  and  all  good's  doon  is 
t'owd  zinc-worker  as  done  job!  And  na  it's  wate-weshin! 
An'  two  windy-bag  MP's  askin'  questions  'ith-House  yester- 
day. An  th'  Acct  being  prepared !" 

As  he  spoke  they  entered  the  mill  ofiices  and  a  moment 
later  both  heard  a  woman's  voice  call  loudly — 

"Jarge!    Jarge!" 

Sutcliife  smiled,  and  remarking  "Yon's  th'owd  rib!"  he 
returned  into  the  room  he  had  just  left,  and  Kirk  heard  the 
following — 

"Eh !  Jarge !  I  wants  thee  shirt !   A'rm  weshin." 

"Ast  brout  annuther  ?" 


298  THE    BORN    FOOL 

"Nay,  tha's  onny  two  oothers  and  they're  ith-toob,  tha's 
mun  do  wi'out  shirt  till  thee  dinner."  "Nay,"  grumbled 
George — "but  tha'  should  ha  brout  me  a  clean  'un." 

"Coom  on,  lad !"  said  Mrs.  Sutcliffe  with  asperity.  "Mak 
haste !  it's  warm  enoo !  an  tha't  werstin  my  time !" 

After  a  short  silence,  and  the  shutting  and  opening  of 
doors,  George  returned  to  Kirk  in  a  buttoned  up  state,  and, 
with  much  goodwill,  saw  his  guest  off  the  premises. 

On  the  way  down  to  his  work  Kirk  became  filled  with 
resolutions.  He  must  earn  more  money;  that  was  the  only 
solution.  He  must  put  away  all  these  foolish  dreams  about 
Nature,  and  about  writing  beyond  Richard  Jefferies ;  he  must 
cease  bothering  about  geology,  he  must  set  to  work  and  pass 
certain  examinations — the  passing  of  examinations  was  com- 
ing into  more  prominence  than  had  previously  been  known  in 
the  history  of  civil  engineering.  This  fact  weighed  upon 
Kirk.  He  resolved  he  must  at  once  begin  to  work  hard  in 
the  evenings.  A  feverishness  of  mind  and  a  perception  of 
urgent  responsibilities  greatly  disturbed  him.  He  felt  a  re- 
newal of  enmity  against  his  father,  for  refusing  him  the  new 
engineering  training  that  had  so  replaced  the  old  pupilship. 
"Had  mother  lived,  I  should  now  have  been  a  Student  of 
the  Institute,  and  have  done  the  exams  before  I  had  to  earn 
my  living." 

But  never  mind,  he  would  do  it  himself — though  heavens 
knew  he  worked  hard  enough  already, — especially  this  get- 
ting up  so  early,  it  made  one  sleepy  in  the  evenings.  But 
forthwith  he  would  make  out  an  evening  time-table  and  stick 
fast  to  it. 

On  arrival  at  the  works  the  writing  of  business  letters, 
the  well-ordered  labour  around  him,  and  a  conversation  with 
Wilkinson,  calmed  young  Clinton.  Later  on  he  watched  the 
men  leave  work,  he  stood  by  the  time-keepers  while  they 
"subbed"  some  of  the  newly  joined  navvies,  and  then  he  left 


THE    BOEN    FOOL  299 

for  home.  As  he  went  through  the  two  peaceful  and  flowery 
little  fields  at  the  hillf oot — he  looked  up  and  saw  the  whole 
early  evening  sky  covered  far  overhead  with  an  exquisite  dap- 
pling of  small  clouds.  This  bright  pageant  moved  on  slowly 
like  a  silvery  fleet,  each  cloudlet  keeping  distance  from  its 
fellow  voyagers  in  the  pale  blue  sea  of  ether.  The  immense 
calmness  and  loveliness  of  this  sky  shed  an  uplifting  of  hope 
into  the  entranced  eyes  of  Kirk — he  felt  he  was  to  be  em- 
powered to  help  and  love  Marian.  Strong  faith  in  himself, 
and  in  the  eternity  of  his  love,  filled  him. 

"Who  loves  her,  must  for  ever  love  her,  and  it  is  I  who 
love  her." 

He  sought  gently  in  the  short  dark  northern  mowing  grass, 
and  made  a  very  small  beautifully  arranged  bouquet  of  wild 
flowers,  using  just  a  sufficiency  of  fragile  grasses  to  give 
them  an  ethereal  lightness. 

When  he  entered  the  house  he  found  the  sisters  were  at 
tea. 

Marian  looked  at  his  flowers  and  said  in  a  low  voice,  "How 
prettily  you've  done  them  up." 

"Do  you  like  them  ?    Will  you  have  them,  Marian  ?" 

He  took  a  little  vase,  filled  it  with  water,  put  in  the  flow- 
ers, touched  them  once  or  twice  and  placed  them  by  Marian, 
smiling  in  her  eyes  as  he  did  so. 

The  girl's  tired  face  lit  up  and  love  marvellously  altered 
her  appearance,  as  her  moistened  eyes  looked  down  into  the 
sweet  little  wild  flowers. 

"You  girls!"  exclaimed  Kirk  enthusiastically,  "and, 
Marian,  especially  you, — if  only  I  could  take  you  South  and 
show  you  places  I  know — where  you  can  smell  wild  white 
violets  in  the  lanes — where  the  banks  are  pale  with  primroses, 
and  the  air  like  breathing  honey! — and  the  wild  roses,  so 
delicate  and  sweet  .  .  .  like  very,  very  young  girls,  I  always 
think  them."  He  stopped  a  moment  and  then  spoke  on  in  a 
calmer  voice,  and  the  girls  listened,  and  intently  watched 


300  THE    BORN    FOOL 

him,  for  his  face,  his  voice,  his  shining  eyes  that  were  seeing 
things  they  had  never  seen — held  them  like  a  spell. 

"...  For  the  secret  about  wild  flowers  is,  they  appeal  to 
our  emotions  far  more  than  do  cultured  blooms.  Lilies 
and  petunias  please  us  in  a  way  more  intellectual,  but  the 
wild  flowers  are  of  Proserpine,  of  the  young  Earth  in  love ; 
for  they  have  less  of  thought  and  so  much  more  of  joy !  they 
are  not  languorous  and  still,  but  are  full  of  joy  and  vitality ; 
they  wave  all  day  in  the  wind  and  hot  sunshine,  and  at  night 
they  know  no  shelter;  for  they  sleep  under  the  stars,  and 
the  moths  come  to  them,  and  the  creeking  rail-bird  slides  past 
them  in  the  short  delicious  night;  the  pure  dew  refreshes 
them,  and  when  the  morn  comes  the  clinging  gems  clothe 
them  in  rainbows." 

After  this  day  Kirk  brought  home  each  evening  a  few 
wild  flowers.  He  arranged  these  as  an  Italian  would  have 
done,  using  but  one  or  two  kinds  of  flowers  at  one  time.  To- 
day he  would  bring  white  stitchwort  and  blue  Veronica ;  to- 
morrow, a  choice  spire  of  crimson  sorrel,  one  buttercup  and 
one  bit  of  wild  parsley,  all  partly  hidden  in  a  cloud  of  trem- 
bling grasses. 

Marian  loved  these  little  acts  and  thought  of  them  in  day- 
dreams, when  she  could.  She  listened  carefully  to  Kirk's 
curious  instruction  for  placing  flowers  in  a  vase,  she  compre- 
hended dimly  and  learnt  by  heart  his  little  formulae  for  har- 
monies of  colour  and  arrangement.  It  was  destined  this 
should  be  all  she  would  ever  learn  from  Kirk,  of  her  own  free 
will  and  wish.  Her  surprising  aptitude  with  flowers  thrilled 
and  delighted  Kirk.  "I  knew  her  real  nature  from  the  first !" 
thought  he  with  rapture. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

KIRK  said  nothing  to  Marian  of  what  was  in  his  heart ; 
and  during  the  next  three  months  he  redoubled  his 
energies.  He  was  on  the  works  every  morning  by  six  o'clock, 
and  thus  gained  more  time  for  private  study  later  in  the 
day;  and  he  increased  his  evening  work,  frequently  sitting 
upstairs  over  his  books  till  long  after  all  the  household, 
saving  Mrs.  Gisburn,  had  gone  to  bed.  She  insisted  on  wait- 
ing up  for  him,  and  saw  that  he  ate  a  piece  of  her  plain  but 
delicious  cake,  and  drank  a  glass  of  beer  before  he  went  to 
bed.  A  slow  tacit  friendship  and  understanding  grew  be- 
tween them,  but  far  stronger  upon  her  side  than  on  his.  Re- 
peatedly she  told  him  not  to  overwork,  not  to  strain  his  eyes, 
and  her  solicitude  was  grateful  to  him,  but  his  grave  argu- 
ment was  always  the  same — 

"You  see,  I  am  now  a  full-grown  man,  Mrs.  Gisburn,  and 
I  am  extremely  anxious  about  the  future.  I  must  obtain 
these  diplomas  and  leave  no  stone  unturned  to  earn  more 
money." 

She  told  him  he  was  very  young,  there  was  plenty  of  time, 
that  he  would  make  himself  old  before  he  was  young,  and 
she  told  him  of  her  own  husband,  who  had  brought  on  ner- 
vous disease  by  similar  feverish,  unceasing  activity. 

"And  we'd  no  thought  of  what  he  was  doing,  he'd  never 
give  in  until  he  was  over- wearied,  and  he  looked  a  stronger 
one  than  you,  and  he'd  such  a  terrible  temper,  though  th'  doc- 
tor said  it  was  but  his  illness  coming  made  him  so  neshed. 
Ay,  you're  doin'  too  much" — She  felt  his  arm  with  her  pow- 
erful hands,  "ye've  gone  quite  pinched  these  months,  y*r 
sister  '11  blame  me  when  'oo  comes." 

In  these  moods  he  would  ask  her  impartially  about  the 

301 


302  THE    BORN    FOOL 

history  and  childhood  of  the  Butterworths,  his  desire  being 
to  hear  about  Marian,  and  be  strengthened  in  his  feelings. 
She  would  reply  with  an  equal  impartiality,  for  she  had  be- 
come fond  of  him,  and  read  his  thoughts  through  and  through. 
Gradually  she  had  come  to  set  her  heart  on  possessing  him 
as  a  member  of  her  family;  a  marriage  for  Marian  was  to 
her  but  the  means  to  the  end.  Already  she  loved  Marian  far 
less  than  Kirk,  so  it  would  have  seemed  to  the  outsider. 

The  familiarity  of  his  presence,  month  by  month,  had 
worn  away  those  first  conscientious  scruples,  when  the  incon- 
gruity of  such  a  marriage  clearly  had  appeared  to  her.  She 
had  lived  all  her  life  among  a  people  who  possessed  few 
social  barriers.  Of  caste  she  knew  nothing,  save  that  of 
wealth,  and,  excepting  her  Bible  and  her  prayer-book,  she  had 
read  no  books.  She  had  learned  of  the  early  death  of  Kirk's 
mother,  and  knew  also  of  the  severance  from  his  father. 

Several  old  friends  had  lately  hinted  to  Mrs.  Gisburn 
that  they  knew  the  state  of  things  in  her  household,  and  re- 
cently the  vicar  had  called. 

Mr.  Vosper  saw  his  parishioners  in  their  homes  at  but 
long  intervals.  Such  visits  were  mostly  due  to  serious  ill- 
nesses, or  to  death ;  and  occasionally  he  pleased  deeply  by  his 
charming  and  genial  presence  at  the  wedding-breakfasts  of 
the  young  men  or  women  who  belonged  to  his  own  Sunday- 
school  class.  Undeniably  he  had  favourites  among  the  vil- 
lage girls.  In  the  Bruside  valleys  the  Church  of  England, 
even  to-day,  has  very  well  attended  Sunday  Schools;  and 
Kirk  had  been  surprised  to  find  that  men  of  sixty  and  even 
seventy  years  were  still  regular  "scholars"  of  a  church  Sunday 
School.  This  old  and  reverend  south-countryman,  Mr.  Vos- 
per, was  truly  respected  and  beloved  in  Bruside.  By  means 
of  a  large  heart  he  understood  the  people  among  whom  he 
lived.  He  was  not  inquisitive;  he  was  well-bred;  he  had 
never  quarrelled  with  his  bell-ringers;  his  choir  respected 
him ;  he  was  no  teetotaller :  and  no  one  in  the  district  could 
make  a  wittier,  livelier,  more  kindly-shrewd  or  affectionate 


THE    BORIS"    FOOL  303 

speech  than  he.  He  had,  himself,  christened  Marian,  and  she 
had  been  a  member  of  his  congregation  from  her  childhood. 
She  was  one  of  his  favourites.  He  thought  Marian  a  girl 
exceptionally  devout.  Since  her  father's  death  over  twenty 
years  ago,  he  had  taken  a  particular  interest  in  her,  and  at 
an  age  unusually  early  he  placed  her  in  charge  of  a  junior 
class.  The  experiment  had,  however,  not  been  quite  so  ab- 
solutely successful  as  he  had  expected. 

Mr.  Vosper  had  been  much  pleased  to  observe  Kirk's  regu- 
lar church  attendance,  and  meeting  him  one  day  in  the  open 
air  he  introduced  himself,  and  they  conversed  a  few  minutes, 
Kirk  impressed  favourably  by  the  refined  nature  of  the 
rubicund  old  gentleman.  When  they  shook  hands  before  part- 
ing the  vicar  remarked, 

"  'The  Sabbath  well  spent  brings  the  week  of  content.'  I 
am  an  old  man,  Mr.  Clinton,  and  times  are  much  changed, 
but,  believe  me,  that  law  still  holds  good." 

Kirk,  susceptible  to  the  strong  and  kindly  feeling  the  old 
man  shed  over  him,  forebore  to  say  that  in  much  of  the 
Church's  doctrines  he  was  at  heart  an  unbeliever  or  doubter. 
His  conscience  slightly  pricked  him  at  this  deception,  for  he 
well  knew  it  was  the  influence  of  Ruth  and  Marian  that 
caused  him  to  attend  these  services. 

The  unpreventible  gossip  of  the  vicar's  old  housekeeper 
was  at  first  put  quietly  aside  by  him,  but  a  rumour  that  Kirk 
was  about  to  leave  Bruside  and  go  to  some  other  works — and 
some  further  pertinent  remarks  by  the  same  old  lady — gave 
him  disquietude.  After  considerable  hesitation,  he  deter- 
mined to  call  on  Mrs.  Gisburn.  Not  to  do  so,  thought  he,  was 
neglect  of  a  plain  duty.  He  found  her  in  the  kitchen,  but 
they  were  both  at  ease  with  each  other  and  she  was  proud 
to  receive  his  rare  visit. 

He  talked  to  her  of  local  things,  seeking  opportunity  to 
warn  her,  but  at  last  he  spoke  directly. 

"Young  Mr.  Clinton  is  still  staying  with  you,  I  think,  Mrs. 
Gisburn  ?" 


304  THE    BOEN    FOOL 

"Yea,  he's  still  with  us." 

"...  Does  he  tell  you  anything  about  his  family  ?  .  .  .  I 
think  I  heard  he  was  not  on  such  very  good  terms  with  his 
father?" 

"I  know  varry  little,  Mesther  Vosper,  but  if  it's  true  I'm 
thinking  it's  none  the  son's  fault." 

"Ah;  but  that  is  very  regrettable;  and  I  hear  he  has  no 
mother?  Good  parents,  we  all  know,  Mrs.  Gisburn,  have  a 
great  influence  on  the  early  career  of  a  young  man."  He 
thought  a  little — "But  I  am  glad  to  see  him  at  church  every 
Sunday.  .  .  .  Is  he  likely  to  be  here  much  longer  ?" 

"Well,  he  thinks  he  will  be  here  nigh  another  year,  he  says 
there's  a  main  deal  o'  wark  to  be  done  yet." 

"Are  you  quite  sure  of  that  ?" 

Mr.  Vosper  stood  up  as  though  to  take  leave,  and  held  Mrs. 
Gisburn's  hand  in  his  own ;  his  fatherly  fear  and  love  alone 
moved  him,  as  was  shown  by  his  sweet  voice — 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Gisburn,  you  and  I  are  old  and  tried 
friends.  You  must  be  careful  with  these  young  engineers, 
they  are  good  fellows,  many  of  them;  but  they  are  here  to- 
day, and  gone  to-morrow." 

"If  you  mean  Mesther  Clinton — Mr.  Vosper — I'd  trust 
him  onywhere,  wi'  ony  o'  my  girls." 

"Forgive  me!  Forgive  me,  Mrs.  Gisburn! — you  know 
what  a  respect  I  have  for  you  and  for  the  girls  .  .  .  and 
Ruth  and  Marian  ...  I  have  seen  them  grow  up  from 
little  ones.  .  .  .  We  are  old  people,  Mrs.  Gisburn,  you  and  I, 
and  we  know  there  is  always  danger  and  temptation  even  to 
the  best  of  us."  Mr.  Vosper's  face  was  ruddier  than  usual. 

"Ay,  I'd  no  thought  t'  speak  sharply  to  ye  for  the  warld, 
Mr.  Vosper,"  said  Mrs.  Gisburn,  apologetically,  but  she  stood 
there  awkwardly  with  no  more  words  to  offer,  and  the  old 
gentleman  bowed  himself  out,  feeling  somewhat  rebuked,  un- 
satisfied, and  still  anxious  about  Marian.  "She  is  impul- 
sive and  good-looking,  and  very  attractive  to  young  men,  as  I 


THE   BOKN   FOOL  305 

have  noticed,"  he  mused,  "but  she  is  devout,  yes,  I  think  she 
is  a  devout  girl." 

In  the  evening,  when  all  but  Mrs.  Gisburn  had  gone  to 
bed,  and  when  Kirk  had  come  downstairs  from  his  studies, 
she  told  him  of  Mr.  Vesper's  visit,  of  what  he  had  said,  and 
what  she  had  replied.  She  possessed  no  power  of  self- 
analysis,  and  would  have  denied  that  her  motive  was  anxiety, 
and  the  desire  to  bind  Kirk.  The  incident  was  grateful  to  the 
vanity  of  a  young  man  so  self-conscious  as  Kirk.  It  roused 
in  him  that  sense  of  invincible  power  over  himself,  of  his  un- 
assailable strength  and  pride  of  honour.  His  secret  thought 
was — "They  will  see !  they  will  see  what  I  am  in  due  course. 
— Vosper  utterly  mistakes  me !" 

To  the  old  lady  he  spoke  with  a  slightly  flushed  cheek  and 
with  his  grey  fanatical  eyes  sparkling, — 

"Thank  you  so  much  for  telling  me,  Mrs.  Gisburn,  I'm 
glad  and  proud  you  think  that  of  me,  I  rather  admire  the  old 
Pharisee  in  the  Bible  who  said  'I  thank  God  I  am  not  as 
other  men.' ' 

"Ay,  yr'  varry  young,  and  varry  lamed.  .  .  .  Ye  must 
think  what's  best  for  yourself,  but  a  man  mun  be  ethher  a 
man  or  a  mouse." 

Mrs.  Gisburn  in  future  avoided  any  very  definite  thoughts 
about  Kirk  and  Marian,  but  she  had  some  insight  into  his 
character.  "What  would  happen,  would  like  happen,"  thought 
she, — and  it  had  entered  her  mind,  that  whatever  Kirk  put 
his  hand  to  would  be  accomplished.  Her  pride  had  always 
been  ministered  to  by  the  district.  It  was  a  common  saying 
in  Bruside  parts — "Ay !  she's  a  proud  one,  and  a  hard  one,  is 
Mrs.  Gisburn."  She  would  have  endured  any  hardship  rather 
than  take  a  gift,  "even  from  the  hand  that  loved  her."  Had 
she  sunk  into  poverty,  she  would  have  asked  nothing,  but 
would  have  died  quietly  of  starvation.  This  pride,  this 
austere  vanity,  aided  her  in  looking  forward  unconsciously  to 
the  culmination  she  hoped  for.  She  had  no  power  of  in- 
trospection. She  did  not  realize  that  half  her  gratification 


306  THE    BORN    FOOL 

would  be  the  association  of  her  family,  on  equal  terms,  with 
one  of  higher  rank ;  the  other  half — was  her  deep  desire  for 
a  man  son.  Jimmie's  temperament  was  unsympathetic  to 
her  own,  but  the  austerity  of  Kirk  attracted  her. 

Marian,  Jim,  and  Dinah,  were  very  much  franker  than 
Mrs.  Gisburn  and  loved  to  parade  the  unconscious  Kirk 
through  Bruside  and  the  neighbourhood. 

As  Kirk's  intent  developed,  a  silence  had  grown  between 
the  sisters.  Ruth  was  the  only  person  in  the  house  unaware 
of  the  attraction  between  Kirk  and  Marian.  Ruth  lacked 
small  observation,  and  her  sisters  in  her  presence  intuitively 
ceased  to  speak  of  Kirk.  Dinah,  acutely  jealous,  had  so  far 
been  restrained  from  showing  it  too  openly  by  the  good  nature 
and  common  sense  of  Jim,  who  alone  could  influence  her. 

These  two  when  alone  had  repeatedly  of  late  discussed 
Marian's  prospects  of  engagement  and  marriage.  Jim  lazily 
socialistic,  lukewarmly  philosophic,  and  quite  careless  and 
ignorant  of  class  and  caste,  mildly  and  affectionately  desired 
fulfilment  of  his  sister's  love,  but  said  no  word  of  it  to  her. 
He  curbed  Dinah's  jealousy  by  his  arguments!  They  had  a 
long  discussion  just  before  Christmas. 

"Well!  Dinah,  lass!"  exclaimed  Jim,  laughing  light- 
heartedly,  "he'll  never  want  thee  nor  Ruth!  any  child  can 
see  that.  It's  Marian  he's  takken  nortice  on,  from  first.  I 
saw  it  reet  plain  when  he'd  been  here  nobbut  three  months ; 
but  she's  a  deep  one,  is  owd  Marian,  and  now — it's  Marian 
this  and  Marian  that,  and  nowt  she  does  is  wrong,  and  all 
yoong  chaps  are  like  that,  so  what's  good  o'  trying  to  spoil 
th'  foon  ?  Besades,  he'll  mak'  money,  will  yon,  and  geet  on, 
no-end ;  ony  foo'  can  see  that,  and  ar'll  bet  he's  geeting  f ouer 
pounds  a  week  now,  look  at  all  th'  expensive  clothes  a'  dons, 
and  going  off  rod-fishing  hundreds  o'  miles  for  nobbut  a  few 
days,  like  he  used  to.  And  he's  generous,  is  Clinton,  and  no 
Bruside  lad  ever  gave  thee  things  like  that,  afore," — he 
touched  Dinah's  bangle.  His  sister  smiled  disdainfully  and 
listened  on,  sitting  on  the  table,  and  dangling  her  short  but 


THE    BORN   FOOL'  307 

well-made  legs.  "Then  thee  can't  go  on  at  th'  mill  for  ever, 
Dinah,  tha'  knows :  an'  if  no  one  weds  thee  .  .  .  ;  an'  a'  doubt 
mysen,  Dinah!"  laughed  Jim,  "ar'll  get  caught  mysen  a' 
reet!  some  der  .  .  .  and  be  wed  and  bed  and  hafe-a-dozen 
childer,  there'll  be  no  money  left  for  thee,  lass !  But  if  yon 
marries  Marian  it  gives  thee  a  good  chance !"  Jim  began  to 
laugh  at  his  own  imagination  as  he  put  his  hand  on  Dinah's 
arm.  "Eh !  Dinah !  folks  'ull  say,  'yon's  Dinah  Butterworth ! 
they're  good  uns  t'  Butterworths — her  sister  Marian  wed  yon 
Mesther  Clinton  who's  gettin'  his  ten  pounds  a  week' — Fancy 
going  and  visiting  them,  too,  after  they're  wed,  Dinah.  Ay, 
and  it'll  be  such  foon  having  a  wedding  from  th'  house! 
Mother  '11  have  to  draw  some  money  out  and  thee  and  Ruth 
'11  have  new  dresses  and  hats,  thee'll  be  bridesmaid  and  I'll 
bet  he'll  give  thee  summat  good  for  that !" 

"He'll  never  wed  her,  do  you  think?"  said  Dinah,  half 
convinced,  and  thinking  hard — "He's  that  queer,  such  a  little 
thing  puts  him  reet  off,  it  seems  to  me.  Why  ever  doesn't 
t' lad  ask  her?" 

"He  will !  he  will !  if  thee'll  stop  makkin  th'  poor  lass  turn 
her  worst  side  out  i'  front  o'  him.  ..."  After  a  pause, 
Jim  spoke  rather  gravely,  looking  at  his  sister — 

"...  Dinah,  thee't  a  little  fou  devil — thee't  wick  wi* 
malice ....  I  can't  think  how  ye  can  take  Communion  nigh 
every  Sunday.  .  .  .  Have  ye  thought  it  would  nigh  kill 
her  ?  Have  ye  forgotten  how  cruel  hurt  the  gurl  was  when 
Jim  Thornaber  misbehaved  to  her?  And  it  was  thee  she 
told.  Ay  .  .  .  you  have  altered  yourself .  ..." 

Dinah  flushed  a  little,  she  was  sitting  quite  still  now.  Her 
thoughts  reverted  to  Marian. 

"Nay!  It's  the  wench  herself!" 

"Di !  Dinah !  tha's  had  a  good  finger  i'  upsetting  her  thee- 
self  o'  late  and  thee  knows  it !" 

Dinah  replied  sharply. 

"So  did  thee !  Thee  started  it  first !  Why  don't  ye  think 
like  that  when  he's  about  ?  It  were  thee  started  me !" 


308  THE    BORN    FOOL 

Jim  began  to  speak,  but  Dinah  broke  in — 

"I  can't  abear  either  of  them  now:  I  never  met  such  a 
stuck-up  affected  chap  in  me  life,  and  Hari^n  that  slobbing 
with  him,  and  always  pretending  they  don't  love  each  other 
— the  great  strong  thing  she  is." 

Dinah  stood  up  and  from  the  window  looked  sadly  at  the 
opposite  stone  houses ;  she  heard  the  tramping  of  boys  in  the 
street. 

"Why,  Dinah !  they're  all  silly  when  they're  i'  loove,  and 
you  know  as  well  as  me  and  mother  what  th'owd  doctor  said 
about  Marian." 

An  impulse  to  comfort  Dinah  and  make  her  laugh  moved 
Jim.  There  was  a  real  friendship  between  these  two,  though 
so  unlike. 

"Why,  he's  the  nicest  young  felly  I've  ever  strock  or  thout 
on!"  and  Jim  began  to  laugh. — "If  a'  wur  a  gurl  I'd  marry 
him  to-day!  and  dang  th'  courting,  if  I'd  chance! — Fancy 
leaning  on  his  arm  on  th'  prom  at  Douglas !" 

Jim  began  to  give  an  amusing  imitation,  he  seized  Dinah's 
arm,  leaned  over  her,  looked  languishingly  into  her  face,  and 
made  her  walk  across  the  room — 

"Kirk,  dear,  shall  we  go  for  a  drave  ?"  "Yes,  dorling,  let's. 
Oh,  how  sweet  you've  done  your  hayair !" 

But  Dinah  experienced  a  fierce  return  of  jealousy  and  dis- 
appointment. She  stood  still,  shook  off  her  brother,  and 
spoke  bitterly. 

"I'm  sick  to  God  o'  the  mill." 

"Ay,  cheer  up,  lass,  th'at  young  still  and  better  looking  nor 
Marian,  and  I'll  swear  Dick  Ollerenshaw's  after  ye,  if  ye'll 
only  treat  the  lad  reetly,  and  Arthur  Clegg  never  knew 
which  to  choose  o'  ye  and  Marian;  and  when  she's  out  o' 
the  way?"  .  .  . 

"Come  on" — said  he — "and  have  your  tea,  and  think  ower 
what  I've  said." 

Dinah  obeyed,  and  endeavoured  to  set  her  mind  to  the 
new  outlook. 


CHAPTEK  XXXVII 

UPON  a  Sunday  morning  in  September,  Kirk  of  habit 
rose  early.  He  intended  to  make  a  solitary  stroll  along 
the  edges  of  the  moor,  above  the  houses  of  the  village.  While 
he  dressed,  he  was  full  of  pure  thought  and  a  loving  sense  of 
Marian's  presence  in  the  house.  As  he  stealthily  descended 
the  staircase,  he  said  to  himself — "Sleep  on,  dear  tired  one, 
thank  goodness  once  more  it  is  a  day  of  rest." 

Taking  pains  to  make  no  disturbing  noise,  he  very  quietly 
unlocked,  opened,  and  gently  shut  behind  him  the  house 
door. 

In  the  village,  the  windless  early  morning  seemed  buried 
and  chilly  with  all-enveloping  white  mist,  and  the  slate  roofs 
were  wet  to  trickling.  The  short  grass  was  soaked  and  grey 
with  dully  glistening  particles.  The  heads  upon  the  tall 
newly-dead  grass  were  bowed  and  loaded  with  cold  dew; 
they  hung  down  quite  still,  in  the  grey  morning.  As  Kirk 
ascended  he  perceived  overhead  a  tinge  of  blue.  The  mist 
was  slowly  lifting ;  the  hidden  sun  seemed  to  be  melting  the 
almost  moveless  vapour  that  hung  round  him. 

By  and  by  there  came  a  muffled  peaceful  cackling  of  hens, 
from  the  little  hidden  cotes  in  the  stony  corners  of  the  bare 
pasture-fields.  Though  the  glow  of  June  and  July  sun, 
though  the  rich  heat  of  August,  and  the  time  of  countless 
flowers  in  the  wind-caressed  mowing  grass  had  passed  away, 
yet  to  Kirk  all  was  still  beautiful.  He  looked  at  the  dark 
small  trees,  stunted  and  battered,  that  made  protection  round 
a  little  grey  farm-stead.  The  moisture  glistened  on  the 
holly-bushes,  on  the  red  wickie-berries  of  the  mountain  ash, 
and  on  the  yellowed  leaves  of  a  strong  hawthorn.  He  stooped 
and  with  his  fingers  touched  the  moveless  grasses,  saying  to 

309 


310  THE   BOKN   FOOL 

himself,  "The  dear  Earth    meditates,    after  all  her    pure 
labours." 

When  he  re-entered  the  house  he  met  Marian.  They 
glanced  and  smiled  at  each  other.  She  looked  girlish,  rested, 
fresh;  her  cheeks  were  slightly  flushed,  unusual  grace  filled 
her.  She  was  transfused  by  the  pure  idealism  of  her  lover.' 
In  each  other's  presence  they  felt  mutually  uplifted,  devout, 
and  Kirk  had  made  that  wonderful  discovery  that  comes  to 
all  men  who  love  ideally — that  pure  love  is  the  great  enemy 
of  physical  desire — that  love  surpasseth  all  things.  No  di- 
rect word  of  their  feelings  had  so  far  passed  between  Kirk 
and  Marian,  but  by  natural  telepathy,  by  meetings  of  their 
eyes,  by  subtlest  trifles,  by  that  extraordinary  knowledge  in 
the  presence  of  each  other,  they  knew  their  mutual  love. 

This  bleak  country,  so  sparse  of  tree  and  flower,  spread 
with  dark  moors,  delved  into,  quarried,  smoke-begrimed,  so 
deeply  ravined  by  ugly  crowded  valleys,  had  transformed  it- 
self in  Kirk's  enchanted  eyes,  and  summer  from  her  eternal 
beauty  had  assisted  greatly  in  the  change. 

Marian  long  had  guessed  why  Kirk  for  two  months  past 
resolutely  every  evening  shut  himself  in  his  room  and  worked 
for  several  hours.  While  they  awaited  the  summons  to  break- 
fast, she  and  Kirk  went  outside  and  stood  together  on  the 
paved  space  that  overlooked  the  moors,  and  Kirk,  averting 
his  eyes,  suddenly  asked — 

"Marian,  how  much  money  does  it  cost  married  people 
to  live  ?  .  .  .to  live  in  a  quiet  way  ?" 

The  girl  was  so  overcome  that  she  could  not  speak  for  a 
moment,  for,  to  her,  his  words  were  equal  to  an  avowal.  Kirk 
glanced  at  her,  and  spoke  again. 

"Young  engineers  get  very  little,  until  after  they  are 
about  twenty-five.  You  remember,  I  told  you  this  before? 
.  .  .  Marian  ...  at  present  I  get  only  ninety  pounds." 

"Oh!  ...  I  thought  you'd  get  about  three  pounds  a 
week!" 


THE    BOKN    FOOL  311 

Disturbed  and  humbled,  Kirk  paused,  and  replied  in  a 
depressed  voice — "It  is  only  about  thirty-five  shillings  a 
week." 

"I  didn't  mean  anything,  I'm  so  sorry,  I  could  have  bit 
me  tongue  off  when  I'd  said  it,  people  talk  so,  and  Dinah 
said  you'd  be  getting  that;  you  mustn't  mind  what  I  said. 
Why !  I  think  thirty-five  is  very  good.  There's  lots  get  mar- 
ried and  set  up  house  on  less  than  that.  Look  at  the  Chat- 
tertons,  she's  a  B.A.  of  music  now,  and  they'd  only  thirty 
shillings  a  week  when  they  married !  they  lived  in  that  little 
house  by  itself  at  Grindlestone  and  eh!  they  are  a  happy 
couple !" 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad  to  hear  that,  Marian.  ..."  He  thought 
a  minute  and  went  on  eagerly,  "But  I  shall  soon  be  getting 
more.  You  see  there  are  lots  of  fellows  who  would  actually 
envy  me,  being  in  charge  of  rather  large  works,  at  my  age, 
and  they'd  be  willing  even  to  pay  Mr.  Bendigo  a  premium 
just  to  have  the  position, — for  the  sake  of  the  experience, 
you  know — but  of  course  their  parents  are  well-to-do  and  care 
about  them — so  really  I'm  rather  lucky  from  an  engineering 
point  of  view.  Old  Mr.  Bendigo  knows  all  about  these  things, 
so  that  really  it  was  good  of  him  to  give  me  a  salary  when  I 
joined  him.  You  see  he  was  quite  poor  when  he  was  young, 
and  he  knows  a  fellow  can  live  quite  decently  on  ninety  a 
year.  Plenty  of  fellows  don't  finish  serving  their  articles 
until  they're  twenty-two,  so  that  you  see  I  have  a  good  chance 
of  getting  much  better  salary  than  other  young  engineers, 
by  the  time  I'm  twenty-five." 

Marian  replied  warmly — 

"I'm  sure  you  will !   Every  one  in  Bruside  says  you'll  get 


on. 
tt 


Do  they  really  ?"  Kirk  was  quite  surprised,  and  much 
pleased  .   .   .  but  he  had  something  more  he  must  say. 

"But,  Marian,  I  think  a  man  has  no  right  to  ask  a  girl  to 
marry,  until  he  has  enough  to  keep  her  properly.  Suppose 
after  he  had  asked  her,  that  he  kept  her  waiting  several  years  ? 


312  THE   BORN    FOOL 

Supposing  then,  after  all  that  waiting,  he  had  still  only  a 
small  salary.  Suppose  he  found  he  was  a  failure.  That 
would  be  such  a  dreadful  thing.  .  .  .  It  might  prevent  her — 
How  could  he  ...  ?" 

But  Marian,  glowing,  interrupted  eagerly — 

"No,  you  don't  understand  us  at  all.  No  girl  minds  wait- 
ing if  he  really  loves  her ;  why !  that's  why  half  the  engage- 
ments are  long  ones ;  nay !  no  girl  minds  waiting  if  she  loves 
her  man." 

"Really?  Really?  Is  that  true  .  .  .  ?"  An  intense 
relief  and  joy  filled  Kirk.  .  .  .  Oh,  how  pure  and  sweet  was 
her  presence,  marriage  with  her  seemed  an  incredible  thing, 
that  could  never  happen.  He  could  only  tell  her  he  loved 
her.  Should  he  tell  her  now?  He  would  take  her  hand. 
.  .  .  From  his  heart  the  words  were  rising  to  his  lips — 
"Dearest,  then  will  you  wait  for  me  ?" — 

"Ay,  you  two  young  folks!"  called  the  irreverent  Dinah, 
"we're  all  sitting  down!  and  your  bacon's  getting  cold, 
Marian." 

Kirk  decided  with  joy  to  tell  her,  before  evening,  that  he 
loved  her,  and  to  ask  if  she  would  wait  for  him  and  marry 
him. 

For  years  past,  each  girl  in  rotation  had  taken  her  turn 
to  stay  in  on  the  Sunday  mornings,  but  to-day  all  three  sis- 
ters dressed  for  church.  There  was  some  dispute  as  to  whose 
day  in  it  was  to  be.  Kirk  overheard  the  end  of  a  conversa- 
tion ;  Marian  was  speaking,  hurriedly  and  persuasively, 

"I  know  I  did,  Ruth,  but  I've  not  had  Communion  now 
for  a  month,  and  you  might  stop  in  just  this  morning." 

Ruth  replied  in  her  gentle  calm  way, 

"You  know  it  is  not  fair,  Marian,  but  you  can  go  if  you 
wish,  but  you  will  remember  I  stayed  in  for  you  only  two 
Sundays  ago  ?" 

"Did  you?  I'd  forgot,"  said  Marian,  irritated  rather 
than  ashamed.  "But  Jim'ull  be  back  early,  and  then  vou 


THE   BORN   FOOL  313 

can  go  out  a  walk  before  dinner.  I'll  help  when  I  come 
back/'  Marian  in  the  hall  finished  putting  on  her  gloves, 
and  Ruth  went  towards  the  kitchen.  The  younger  girls 
with  Kirk  and  Jim  set  off  for  church. 

This  incident  was  painful  to  Kirk.  It  had  seemed  selfish 
of  Marian.  It  was  very  painful — until  he  shut  his  eyes  to 
it,  as  he  had  already  done  to  other  incidents,  for  such  would 
have  injured  and  altered  the  ideal  he  had  built  up,  and  that 
he  now  lived  in  so  sensuously.  To  injure  that  would  cause 
him  pain  intolerable.  He  was  compelled  to  argue  with  him- 
self as  he  walked  to  church — "She  is  not  selfish,  it  is  sim- 
ply that  she  is  more  sensitive,  she  suffers  more  from  this  hard 
life,  she  is  less  used  to  it,  she  suffers  far  more  than  do  the 
others,  from  the  lack  of  change  and  happiness  and  fresh  air. 
But  Ruth  has  grown  quite  used  to  things,  and  she  has  her 
religious  absorption  to  support  her;  she  is  a  combination 
of  a  nun  and  of  that  Martha  in  the  Bible.  Dinah  is  case- 
hardened  and  material,  and  very  strong  in  body  and  light  in 
heart.  But  Marian  is  ...  is  physically  much  more  sensi- 
tive than  these  others — that  explains  much." 

Kirk  by  himself  returned  from  church,  leaving  the  But- 
terworths  who  stayed  for  Communion.  Hours  of  divine  ser- 
vice were  early  at  Bruside,  and  by  twelve  he  heard  Marian, 
Jim  and  Dinah  enter  the  house.  They  all  came  into  the 
room  in  which  Kirk  sat  reading,  and  Jim  addressed  him. 

"Will  tha'  go  with  Dinah  and  me  a  little  wp"!k  afore  din- 
ner, Mr.  Clinton?" 

"Yes,  I  would  like  it !"  replied  Kirk.  He  closed  his  book 
and  jumped  up. 

"Where  shall  we  go?" 

"Let's  go  to  Morscarn  Clough !"  exclaimed  Marian.  "It's 
close  to,  and  ever  so  sweet,  I  think  it's  like  your  old  south !" 

She  smiled  at  Kirk,  and  as  they  entered  the  hall  they  met 
Ruth,  who  was  fully  dressed  and  just  drawing  on  one  glove. 


314  THE    BORN.FOOL 

Marian's  face  clouded  and  she  began  to  pass  her  sister  and  go 
towards  the  door. 

Suddenly  hysterical,  her  face  distorted,  Ruth  turned  and 
seized  Marian's  arm. 

"You're  not  going  out !  You  shan't !"  suffocatingly  cried 
she.  She  held  her  sister  convulsively.  Marian,  infuriated, 
dragged  her  along,  they  struggled  together. 

"Loose  me !  Loose  me !"  cried  Marian  and  gripped  Ruth's 
hair.  She  tore  it  down  and  pulled  savagely. 

Profoundly  shocked  Kirk  yet  instantly  seized  the  long 
dark  hair  above  Marian's  hand  and  prevented  further  pain. 
He  parted  the  two  quickly,  but  as  gently  as  he  could. 

Ruth,  sobbing  hysterically,  was  led  upstairs  by  Dinah. 
Marian  followed  them. 

Jimmie,  greatly  upset,  exclaimed: 

"Aw'm  reet  ashermed!  ay!  ar'm  that  ashermed  .  .  . 
Mesther  Clinton !  If  'a  wer  thee,  a'd  ha'  nowt  to  do  wi*  ony 
o'  them.  Tha't  a  fool  if  tha'  dooes !  There !  Ar've  said  it ! 


A  week  later  Kirk  was  walking  rapidly  down  hill  towards 
the  works.  There  were  dark  rings  under  his  eyes,  and  he 
drew  short  insufficient  breaths  as  he  looked  down  aimlessly, 
first  to  right  and  then  to  left,  in  the  bright  morning.  Then 
he  glanced  upward. 

"Oh  God. — The  lark  has  no  joy  for  me,  will  never  again 
have  joy  for  me." 

He  dropped  his  head  again,  thinking  for  the  hundredth 
time  of  what  had  happened.  How  terrible  it  appeared.  He 
was  full  of  grief  and  sick  apprehension.  What  had  he  done  ? 
He  had  made  her  love  him  for  ever,  and  now  these  frightful 
feelings  against  her  filled  him.  "Oh  God !  do  I  hate  her  be- 
cause of  that?  What  can  I  do?  What  can  I  do?  Oh! 
Marian!  Marian!  Marian!  why  did  you  do  that  horrible 
thing?" 

" 1  can't  go  on  the  works,"  cried  he  to  himself,  his 


THE    BOEN    FOOL  315 

heart  contracting,  all  in  front  of  him  going  black.  He  turned 
off  into  a  lonely  bridle-path  that  led  up  to  the  moors. 

"Ah!  I've  felt  it  at  moments  before,  this  awful  feeling 
against  her,  but  I  never  thought  it  would  come  to  this.  Ah ; 
I  can't  have  lost  everything?  this  is  despair,  despair.  Oh 
I  can't  live,  what  will  she  do  ?  It  will  kill  her.  Oh  me — how 
can  /  be  inconstant  ?  Surely  it  is  not  me,  to  be  inconstant.  If 
it  is  I  cannot  live." 


CHAPTEK  XXXVIII 

BUT  there  were  tenacities  and  fixities  powerful  in  Kirk 
of  which  he  himself  as  yet  was  unaware.  The  quarrel 
upon  the  Sunday,  when  two  months  had  passed  away,  seemed 
faint  and  long  ago.  He  had  recovered  a  part  of  his  ideal  of 
Marian,  and  the  girl  herself  was  in  a  long  and  unusual  mood 
of  meekness,  humbleness,  and  doglike  regret.  She  stayed 
in  oftener  than  she  need  have  done  for  Euth  and  showed  a 
repentance  that  Kirk  during  his  now  very  fickle  moods  of 
joy  magnified  into  lovely  conduct.  But  he  was  no  longer 
happy  or  filled  with  dreams.  Again  and  again  he  was  greatly 
disturbed,  alarmed  acutely,  to  find  himself  criticising  the 
girl  he  had  so  loved.  When  such  feelings  came  he  put  them 
violently  away  and  cried  fiercely  to  himself,  "I  will  love 
her!" 

The  effects  of  her  coarse  English  upon  his  newly  sensi- 
tive ear  he  resolutely  defied.  And  he  excused  her  and  tried 
with  varying  success  to  make  himself  blind  to  her  short- 
comings. Consciously  he  shut  his  eyes  to  the  furtive  fric- 
tion that  he  now  detected  between  the  sisters,  and  he  en- 
deavoured again  to  smooth  things.  He  brought  them  pres- 
ents of  chocolates  and  dainties  they  could  not  afford,  and, 
after  seeing  his  extreme  surprise  and  regret — not  to  say 
grief — when  there  had  been  a  semi-quarrel  over  the  division 
of  these  good  things,  the  two  younger  sisters  curbed  their 
natural  inclinations  and  had  their  fierce  disputes  in  his  ab- 
sence. 

Upon  a  December  evening,  early  in  the  month,  Kirk  had 
walked  out  with  Ruth  and  Marian. 

The  road  was  hilly,  the  night  very  dark,  and  the  fields 
and  moorlands  lay  still  and  silent  beneath  intense  frost.  A 

316 


THE   BOR^   FOOL  317 

white  shroud  of  mist  filled  the  deep  valleys  beneath  them. 
The  mighty  constellations  hung  in  space  overhead,  gleaming 
and  glittering  with  a  preternatural  brilliance. 

As  Kirk  and  the  two  sisters  began  to  walk  down  a  short 
hill  Marian  slipped  but  Kirk  caught  her  arm  and  saved 
her  from  a  fall. 

"Why!  it  is  all  ice!"  cried  he,  looking  closely  at  the 
road  and  seeing  faint  reflections.  He  took  an  arm  of  each 
sister  firmly  inside  his  own.  For  two  months  past  he  had  not 
done  this  with  Marian.  It  seemed  a  dear  arm  that  he  held 
again,  tenderly  pressed  against  his  side ;  she  was  much  weak- 
er than  he;  he  could  feel  her  girl's  form  touch  him;  he 
walked  with  sure  feet,  ready  for  a  slip ;  again  and  again  he 
saved  them,  even  when  they  all  three  slid  together.  He  had 
learned  to  keep  his  knees  bent  for  a  slip  in  his  many  geologi- 
cal wanderings  over  rough  ground,  and  in  those  solitary  fish- 
ing trips  to  Wales,  when  he  covered  long  tracks  up  and  down 
mountain  and  over  wild  country,  often  for  hours  after  night 
had  fallen — and  then,  too,  he  was  a  good  skater. 

On  level  ground  he  did  not  loose  their  arms.  After  be- 
ing silent,  he  bowed  his  head  a  little  between  them,  walked 
very  slowly,  drew  them  close,  and  said  in  a  low  and  sweet 
voice — 

"You  two  will  never  quarrel  again?"  He  heard  Marian 
draw  in  her  breath ;  then  Ruth  spoke. 

".  .  .  It  wasn't  all  Marian  ...  it  was  my  fault;  you 
mustn't  think  hardly  of  her ;  she  wanted  to  go,  so  much,  be- 
cause .  .  .  because  .  .  .  she  is  much  younger  than  me." 

"Ay,  you  are  good,  Ruth,"  said  Marian  in  a  stifled  voice, 
"you  know  it  was  me ....  I'll  never,  never,  do  nothing  like 
that  again."  The  tears  flew  into  Kirk's  eyes,  for  he  knew 
Marian  was  crying,  he  gently  found  her  hand  and  clasped 
it  in  his  own. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

KIRK  felt  a  proud  affection  for  Mary  as  they  walked 
through  Bruside  near  a    cold    sundown    just    before 
Christmas.     It    was    a    youthful    and    boyish    pride — and 
might  have  told  him  that  this  unknown  village  occupied  far 
too  important  a  place  in  his  life  and  consciousness. 

Mary  had  grown  remarkably  pretty,  and  she  knew  how 
to  dress.  Her  jet  black  hair  and  eyes,  her  lovely  little  ears, 
the  bright  colour  in  her  cheeks,  her  handsome  furs  and  be- 
coming fur  toque,  her  easy  elegant  carriage  of  herself  as  she 
walked — all  attracted  great  attention. 

"Kirk  dear !   How  very  funny  they  are." 

<rWho  ?" — asked  he,  smiling. 

"Why,  the  Butterworth  girls  and  all  these  queer  rough 
people.  But  they're  so  kind  and  hospitable  and  respectful 
.  .  .  and  though  they  do  stare  so,  one  feels  it's  ..." 

"Admiration  ?" 

"Don't  be  personal,  Kikkie." 

"Oh,  I  like  their  good  taste.  You  have  become  pretty,  old 
girl,  and  no  mistake!" 

"Have  I  .   .   .  ?" 

"You  know  you  have!"  laughed  her  brother.  "And  how 
you  managed  to  get  these  nice  things  out  of  the  old  man  I 
don't  know !" 

They  walked  on  some  two  miles  while  Mary  told  Kirk  of 
Severnly  and  home — it  seemed  far  away  now,  to  him.  Then 
her  thoughts  returned  to  Bruside. 

"I  wish  the  youngest  Miss  Butterworth  wouldn't  wear 
that  dreadful  fringe — she's  such  a  nice  girl,  she'd  be  quite 
good-looking  if  it  were  not  for  that." 

"Oh,  I  rather  like  it  now,  I  think  it  suits  her." 

318 


THE    BORN    FOOL  319 

"Well,  I  don't,  dear — and  she  has  such  lovely  hair — a  kind 
of  pale  goldish,  quite  uncommon,  and  so  rich,  and  thick,  I 
get  quite  tired  of  my  own  raven  locks." 

"Do  you  think  you  are  a  good  judge  of  women,  Mary  ?" 

"What  a  queer  question,  my  dear !" 

" — I  think  I  take  more  interest  in  women,  now,  than  I 
once  did;  I  like  to  study  them.  What  do  you  think  of 
Dinah  ?— The  little  pretty  one—" 

"Why !  I  hardly  know  them,  yet,  Kirk  .  .  .  but  they  all 
Beem  very  kind." 

"Yes,  they  are,  aren't  they  ?  How  do  you  like  Marian — 
the  youngest  ?" 

"Well,  I  have  noticed  her — there's  something  rather  nice, 
very  faithful  about  her,  Kirk,  I  should  say." 

"I  thought  you'd  like  her  best,  I  knew  you  would,  I  do 

myself.     She's  so  pure-looking  .  .  .  and  lovable,  and  open 

. n 

"But  of  course,  dear,  I  think  you  seem  rather  too  friendly 
with  a  girl  of  her  station,"  said  his  sister. 

"You  forget,  Mary,  that  you  are  in  the  wildest  of  the 
West  Hiding;  ycu  are  not  in  an  old  county-family  county 
of  the  Feudal  period! — and  this  is  the  Martineau's  house, 
Mary;  you  will  so  like  his  music." 

Kirk  opened  the  gate  and  they  went  up  the  stone-slabbed 
path  to  the  doer.  Mrs.  Martineau  opened  it  herself,  smiling 
enquiringly.  Kirk  introduced  his  sister — 

"I  said  I  would  bring  her  when  she  came,  you  remember, 
to  see  you  and  hear  your  husband  play  Heller." 

The  house  outside  was  the  ordinary  grim  square-built 
house,  of  coldly  greenish-yellow  grit-stone.  The  door  jambs, 
the  sills,  the  lintels,  the  plinth-course,  all  "were  of  tough  sawn 
stone,  square,  naked,  and  destitute  of  softening  arris  or  the 
masons'  rude  art  of  ornament.  The  house  was  built  to  stand 
the  annual  eight  months  of  continuous  severe  weather.  The 
slates  were  cropped  close  as  possible  at  eaves  and  gables,  and 
bound  down  with  rows  of  iron  cramps.  The  garden  was  a 


320 

patch  of  grimed  and  beaten  grass,  divided  by  the  washed 
slab  path.  The  big  road  in  front  was  heavily  setted,  flagged 
and  curbed.  And  just  as  it  did  to-night — the  wind  shrilled 
and  yelled  during  two-thirds  of  the  year  through  the  tele- 
graph wires,  that  stretched  thick  and  taut  from  monster  pole 
to  monster  pole  as  far  as  one  could  see.  The  most  familiar 
noise  upon  this  road  was  the  deep  humming  as  one  passed 
each  pole,  the  most  familiar  smell  the  odour  of  the  creosote 
upon  them.  The  keen  and  clever  minds  that  drove  the  great 
mills  and  works,  the  multitudes  of  commerce,  hourly  poured 
their  busy  thoughts  through  these  dense  skeins  of  wire. 

But  how  quiet  it  was  inside  this  small  house !  The  furni- 
ture was  Sheraton,  and  genuinely  old ;  the  inmates  spoke  the 
Southern  English — so  sweet  and  cultured  to  the  ears  of  Kirk 
— for  ever  he  remained  a  sensitive  impressionist,  in  a  strange 
land,  throughout  his  Northern  sojourns. 

Mr.  Martineau  was  long  since  booked  a  failure,  by  his 
relatives.  He  had  taken  but  a  poor  degree.  He  was  proud 
and  sensitive,  and  spoke  little.  He  had  no  money  when  he 
married,  and  he  had  married  very  young.  His  son  and 
daughters  had  long  gone  out  into  the  world  to  do  what  they 
could.  Their  father  had  come  in  time  to  live  and  settle  down 
among  these  misty  pikes  and  lows ;  and  for  many  years  had 
been  organist  in  the  Parish  Church  at  Hepthwaite — he  also 
taught  at  the  Technical  Schools,  and  thus  he  earned  his 
living. 

Mrs.  Martineau  was  gray,  thin,  fifty,  and  always  cheerful, 
kindly  and  refined. 

Her  husband  with  Kirk  sat  down  and  for  some  time  talked 
desultorily  of  books,  Mary  and  Mrs.  Martineau  sat  together 
in  a  corner  of  the  small  drawing  room — it  was  a  treat  for 
Mrs.  Martineau  to  meet  one  of  equal  breeding  in  this  desert 
of  uncouthness,  and  Mary  was  a  first-rate  chatterer. 

At  last  Kirk  came  over  to  them  smiling,  and  stooped  over 
his  sister — "You  mustn't  talk  the  whole  evening  away,  old 
girl,  or  he  won't  play  for  us — do  stop  her,  Mrs.  Martineau !" 


THE    BOEN   FOOL  321 

Mary  was  genuinely  surprised,  and  sat  rapt,  while  the 
gray  haired  man  played,  with  great  devotion.  She  had  not 
taken  Kirk's  description  seriously.  Certainly,  by  his  unique 
interpretation  he  seemed  to  prove  his  belief  absolutely  true 
— that  Heller  was  a  great  genius,  neglected,  misunderstood, 
and  had  come  to  die  of  starvation  in  a  Paris  garret.  Mr. 
Martineau  asserted  that  Heller  sounded  the  profoundest 
depths  of  thought  and  feeling.  But  Kirk  thought  Martineau 
the  genius, — that  the  player  was  greater  than  the  music. 

Mary,  girlishly  enthused,  offered  warm  praise  but  was 
chilled  by  the  polite  absolute  passivity  and  impenetrability 
of  Mr.  Martineau. 

When  Mary  and  Kirk  rose  to  go  Mrs.  Martineau  spoke 
to  him — 

"Are  you  quite  comfortable,  Mr.  Clinton,  at  Mrs.  Gis- 
burn's?" 

"Oh  yes,  thank  you." 

"I  can  never  remember  all  her  daughters — there  are  three, 
I  think,  are  there  not  ?  They  work  at  the  mill  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Kirk,  several  times,  punctuating  her  queries 
and  putting  on  his  coat  in  the  hall,  under  the  bright  in- 
candescent light. 

"The  youngest  is  rather  nice  looking,  isn't  she  ?  What  is 
her  name  ?" 

"Marian,  I  think,"  said  Kirk,  with  a  kind  of  wary  resent- 
ment, for  he  had  caught  Mary's  dark  glance,  and  the  similar 
acute  interrogation  of  Mrs.  Martineau. 

The  brother  and  sister  walked  back  almost  in  silence. 
Those  little  sentences  seemed  to  reveal  to  Kirk  that  what 
he  thought  his  deep  secret  was  somehow  suspicioned  on. 


CHAPTER  XL 

KIRK  unexpectedly  had  been  comforted,  and  his  resolu- 
tions much  strengthened,  by  his  sister's  liking  for 
Marian.  Without  admitting  it  to  himself,  he  had  feared 
criticism,  suspicion;  and  if  he  could  he  would  have  put  off 
the  visit.  But  having  for  months  spoken  so  frequently  to  the 
Butterworths  of  his  sister,  and  after  rousing  in  Mary  a  keen 
anticipation  of  her  visit,  he  had  not  had  the  heart  to  stop  her 
coming,  and  he  was  still  too  truthful  to  have  told  Mrs.  Gis- 
burn  that  his  sister  could  not  come.  Mary,  shy  as  a  bird 
about  herself,  had  not  confided  to  her  brother  that  she  was 
in  love,  and,  indeed,  about  to  be  engaged.  Perhaps  it  would 
be  on  Christmas  Day ! 

A  few  days  later,  as  Kirk  returned  from  seeing  her  away 
he  once  more  felt  joyous  and  light-hearted,  for  that  beautiful 
pure  feeling  of  affection,  of  love,  surged  back  into  him.  He 
talked  much,  and  was  very  gay  at  tea-time ;  and  with  his  eyes 
and  manner  he  had  said  to  Marian,  as  he  entered  the  bright- 
lit  room,  "I  do  love  you,  I  do  love  you." 

After  tea,  Dinah  rose  quickly  from  the  table,  went  into 
the  hall  while  no  one  observed,  and  brought  back  a  little  twig 
of  mistletoe.  She  held  it  over  Kirk's  head  and  stooped  and 
kissed  his  cheek.  His  youthful  blood  leaped  even  while  he 
resented  the  familiarity.  Overturning  his  chair  he  chased 
her,  flew  round  the  room,  seized  the  mistletoe,  nearly  caught 
her,  and  she  screamed  as  she  escaped  and  dashed  upstairs. 
Ruth,  open-eyed  and  half-smiling  up  at  him,  was  promptly 
kissed,  Kirk  laughing  as  he  did  so,  and  the  thought  flashed 
through  him  that  he  must  kiss  Marian. 

"All  right,  Dinah" — said  Kirk  breathlessly — "Come  down, 

322 


THE   BOEN   FOOL  323 

it's  all  over,"  and  he  sat  down.  Mrs.  Gisburn  in  a  state  of 
dismayed  amusement  had  joined  her  hands  as  if  in  prayer 
and  exclaimed  with  astonishment — 

"Ay!  Ay!  Mr.  Clenton!  How  can  ye?  Gurls!  Whatever 
would  his  sister  think  of  it!"  .  .  .  Kirk  caught  Dinah  in- 
stantly as  she  arrived  at  the  stair-foot  and  after  a  little 
struggle  kissed  her  soundly.  Only  half  the  twig  remained 
and  his  hand  was  stickied  with  the  berries.  He  had  no  wish 
to  do  this  with  Marian,  and  he  hesitated,  pretending  breath- 
lessness,  but  Dinah  was  laughing : — "Look  out,  Marian !  He's 
after  you !" — and  Marian  herself  was  moving  away,  glancing 
at  him  with  a  strange,  flushed,  alluring,  yet  resentful  look, 
and  the  moment  his  own  eyes  met  and  mingled  with  hers  a 
peculiar  feeling  shot  through  himself.  He  chased  her  round 
the  room,  chairs  falling  over,  Jim  and  Dinah  loudly  laugh- 
ing ;  he  pursued  her  into  the  hall,  into  the  best  parlour ;  she 
doubled  out  again;  twice  he  met  her  eyes  as  she  slipped  his 
hand ;  she  roused  a  feeling  he  had  never  known,  and  he  cor- 
nered her  in  the  dim  hall ;  she  fell  on  her  knees,  turned  from 
him  and  held  her  face  in  her  hands ;  he,  too,  was  on  his  knees 
and  he  seized  her  hand,  took  it  from  her  face,  overbalanced 
and  fell  against  her  as  he  kissed  her.  Their  faces  were  per- 
force a  moment  pressed  hard  together  as  he  kissed  her.  The 
sticky  juice  was  on  her  face  and  hair ;  he  was  laughing  un- 
comfortably as  he  withdrew  his  left  hand  out  of  the  middle 
of  her  bosom  and  regained  his  balance,  but  Marian's  face  con- 
vulsed, and  she  spat  upon  his  forehead.  None  saw  it. 

He  stood  up,  dazed,  dismayed,  slowly  wiping  his  face  with 
his  handkerchief,  attempting  and  attempting  to  analyse  what 
he  had  done  to  Marian.  He  heard  her  voice  speaking  defi- 
antly and  tearfully. 

"You  shouldn't  have  hurt  me  like  that." 

The  girl  went  quickly  past  him,  and  upstairs.  On  her 
bed  she  sat  down,  her  knees  wide  apart,  her  face  hidden  in 
her  hands,  and  she  broke  into  hard  silent  sobbing.  Her  heart 
palpitated  terribly,  and  she  thought  with  agony,  "Oh,  he'll 


324  THE    BOK£T   FOOL 

not  love  me,  he  never  loved  me,  he'll  never  want  me  now,  I 
wish  I  were  dead,  I  hate  all  men  and  my  own  feelings,  too,  I 
wish  I  was  dead,  I  wish  I  was  dead." 

Kirk  had  no  experience  or  conception  of  a  too-sensual  love. 
To  him,  Marian's  act  was  inexplicable:  horrifying.  Kirk 
had  never  seen  the  mare  kick  the  stallion.  Nor  even  had  he 
seen  it,  could  he  possibly  have  brought  so  gross  a  touchstone 
to  a  human  being — above  all,  to  a  girl.  He  had  never  realised 
those  deep  roots  of  love  that  grow  down  in  the  earthly  and 
the  physical.  He  had  looked  only  on  the  sweet  flowers  that 
crown  the  stems,  and  aspire  to  heaven. 

In  the  night  Kirk  dreamed  Marian  came  to  his  bedside  and 
looked  down  at  him  with  that  strange  look.  He  started  up 
in  bed,  wide  awake,  his  teeth  clenched.  Fiercely  he  thrust 
out  this  vision  from  his  mind. 


CHAPTER  XLI 

B  ROUGH  invariably  spent  the  first  few  days  of  Christ- 
mas holiday  with  Mr.  Bendigo,  and  the  remainder  with 
his  own  family.  He  had  for  years  been  regarded  by  the  old 
man  as  a  prospective  son-in-law.  At  one  time  Brough  had 
himself  thought  this  possible,  but  he  was  in  no  hurry,  he- 
desperately  disliked  being  tied  in  any  way,  and  first  one 
daughter,  and  then  another,  and  finally  the  youngest  daughter 
of  the  old  man  had  become  engaged  to  other  men,  and  had 
married.  But  Brough  from  long  habit  continued  to  visit  Mr. 
Bendigo  at  Christmas,  and  often  he  was  semi-seriously 
chafed  by  the  old  man  for  not  taking  to  himself  a  wife. 
Privately,  Mr.  Bendigo  was  much  disappointed  in  this  mat- 
ter. The  husband  of  his  youngest  daughter  had  not  been 
a  success,  and  the  father  now  contributed  to  the  household 
expenses  of  the  daughter. 

While  Kirk  spent  his  Christmas  in  the  north,  Brought 
as  usual  dined  on  Christmas  Day  with  the  Bendigos.  Imme- 
diately the  midday  dinner  was  over,  the  nephews — to 
Brough's  great  relief — went  off  skating.  Mr.  Bendigo  over 
the  wine  and  walnuts  was  once  more  twitting  Brough,  who 
laughingly  replied, 

"But  I'm  not  a  marrying  man,  Sir,  though  I  very  nearly 
did  it  once ....  Do  you  recollect  that  little  work  you  sent 
me  down  to  in  Sussex,  ten  or  twelve  years  ago,  Munden- 
hurst  ?  .  .  .  Well,  I  lived  with  a  widow  and  her  daughter ; 
she  was  a  pretty  little  thing." 

"What,  the  widow  ?" 

"No,  Sir!"  laughed  Brough.  "No  fear!  I  meant  the 
daughter,  and  I  tell  you,  Sir,  I  fell  in  love  with  her,  the  only 

325 


326  THE    BORJST    FOOL 

time  in  my  life ! — and  I  kept  in  love,  too, — until  I  found  she 
had  two  children  by  the  local  policeman !" 

"Really!  Shocking!  How  shocking,  Brough."  Old  Mr. 
Bendigo  had  raised  his  eyebrows,  and  gazed  seriously  at 
Brough. 

"Yes;  it  was  rather  shocking — to  me,"  said  Brough,  drily, 
thinking  the  old  man  had  no  sense  of  humour,  for  Brough 
had  intended  this  little  story  as  a  prelude.  Absently  he  fin- 
gered the  stem  of  a  wineglass.  He  had  never  quite  lost  his 
first  youthful  constraint  in  the  company  of  Mr.  Bendigo.  He 
was  quite  unaware  that  he  still  used  the  respectful  "Sir" ; 
nor  was  he  conscious  that  with  Mr.  Bendigo  he  avoided  in- 
stinctively that  habitual  irony  and  drawl. 

"We  shall  have  to  think  about  some  one  to  take  charge  of 
the  Whitdale  bridge," — said  he,  at  length. 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Bendigo,  musingly,  somewhat  pre- 
occupied, "yes.  .  .  .  Charlie  hasn't  much  to  do  at  Dover ;  he 
might  go  down  there  ?" 

"I  think  that  would  not  do,  Sir ;  it  will  be  an  awkward  con- 
tract in  some  ways, — a  difficult  piece  of  work — and  he  doesn't 
know  the  north,  a  beastly  place  Whitdale,  I  don't  think 
Charlie's  strong  enough  for  that  climate,  Sir." 

"Oh !  oh !  ...  oh,  you  think  so,  Brough  ?" 

"Well,  if  Charlie  did  come  north,  I  suppose  he  would  have 
to  be  under  me,  and  in  that  case  I  think  it  would  be  far  better 
to  send  young  Clinton  to  Whitdale,  and  let  Charlie  try  and 
carry  on  at  Bruside ;  it's  fairly  plain  sailing  there,  now,  and 
I  could  look  him  up  easily,  say  once  or  twice  a  week,  that  is, 
of  course,  if  Charlie  did  come  north." 

"...  You  know,  Brough,  you  don't  make  the  best  out  of 
Charlie." 

".  .  .1  think  it  might  be  a  good  thing  to  let  Clinton  go 
somewhere  else  now,  Sir." 

"Why  ?  why  ?  I  don't  see  that,  Brough.  I  don't  see  your 
point.  Leave  well  alone.  He's  made  good  friends  with  the 
other  side,  we  have  never  had  less  trouble  with  a  contract 


THE    BORN    TOOL  32T 

.  .  .  and  I  may  tell  you,  Brough,  Bruside  has  paid  us  better 

than  any  other  work,  this  last  year.     "Why  take  him  away? 

Why  take  him  away  ?  .  .  .  What's  the  amount  of  Whitdale  ?" 
"About  sixteen  thousand,  including  the  steel-work." 
"Humph,  I  thought  it  was  more.     We  can't  start  before 

March." 

"Well,  that's  only  two  months  away,  Sir." 

The  old  man  did  not  reply.  He  had  suddenly  dismissed 
the  subject.  He  puffed  away  at  his  cigar ;  he  had  some  pleas- 
ant news  in  keeping  for  Brough. 

He  looked  with  satisfaction  at  the  younger  man. 

"Brough,  I  am  becoming  an  old  man." 

"Oh!  do  you  think  so,  Sir!"  smiled  Brough,  genuinely 
incredulous.  But  Mr.  Bendigo  slowly  waved  the  denial  aside 
as  he  arose.  In  the  dark  furniture  he  unlocked  a  drawer 
and  brought  to  the  table  an  important-looking  document. 

"The  better  the  day  the  better  the  deed,"  said  he  senten- 
tiously.  He  had  not  the  least  notion  that  he  had  made  a 
pun.  He  gave  a  parchment  to  Brough  and  bade  him  read  it. 

Glancing  through  the  short  deed,  Brough  learnt  he  was 
to  be  manager  and  director  in  the  south,  and  that  himself, 
Mr.  Bendigo,  and  his  two  nephews,  would  enter  into  partner- 
ship. The  terms  for  Brough  were  generous.  The  new  order 
of  things  would  commence  in  some  six  months'  time. 

He  was  exceedingly  surprised,  and  very  gratified. 

The  old  gentleman  re-filled  the  glasses,  and  they  drank 
success  to  "James  Bendigo — Limited." 

After  twenty  minutes'  conversation,  Brough  had  entered 
into  a  new  relationship  with  his  chief,  and  Clinton's  name 
coming  up  by  chance  he  at  once  spoke  more  freely  of  him; 
his  heart  was  warmed  by  his  own  good  future  and  success, 
and  by  the  wine.  Further,  he  was  moved  sincerely  by  an  af- 
fectionate interest  in  Kirk's  welfare. 

"You  take  an  interest  in  him,  I  know,  Sir  ...  I  knew  you 


328  THE    BOKIST    FOOL 

did  .  .  .  yes,  between  you  and  me,  Sir,  he's  worth  five  times 
what  he  gets,  but  he's  too  modest  to  ask  for  more." 

Mr.  Bendigo  laughed  quickly  and  spoke — "Brough, 
Brough,  you  are  young,  you  must  see  with  me  as  regards 
salaries.  I  was  thirty  years  of  age  before  I  rose  to  three 
pounds  a  week.  It's  good  for  young  men  to  live  sparingly, 
and  learn  the  value  of  money.  I  dislike  these  sudden  Ameri- 
can methods.  He's  getting  excellent  experience,  and  I  may 
tell  you  that  his  father  asked  me  to,  ah — to  ...  I  don't  re- 
member the  exact  words;  but  he  wished  his  son  to  live,  ah, 
very  quietly,  until  he  had  come  to  years  of  discretion." 

".  .  .  .  A  queer  thing  for  a  father  to  do  ?" 

"A  little  unusual  perhaps ;  his  father  is  rather  eccentric, — 
but  a  very  sound  engineer." 

"Well,"  continued  Brough, — "Aikrigg  tells  me  that  Clin- 
ton is  seen  about  a  good  deal  with  some  girl  in  Bruside.  In 
fact  he  fears  Clinton  may  become  entangled.  ...  I  think 
there's  something  in  it,  otherwise  Aikrigg  would  not  have 
spoken." 

"What!  What's  this,  Brough?  Clinton?  Surely  no!  I 
feel  convinced  he  is  a  most  exemplary  lad.  A  strict  father,  a 
strict  upbringing,  mother  a  very  pious  woman,  a  very  fine 
woman.  I'm  a  reader  of  character,  Brough,  you  know  it.  I 
feel  you're  mistaken.  Mere  gossip — who  is  this  Aikrigg? 
Not  the  stone  man  ?" 

"Yes,  Sir,  the  stone  man,  and  a  very  decent  shrewd  chap 
he  is.  Man  of  few  words,  well  thought  of  down  there." 

"Poo-poo!  Surely  Clinton's  not  such  a  fool? — besides, 
he's  a  bit  too  much  of  a  gentleman,  yes,  he's  too  much  of  a 
gentleman  to  ruin  a  girl,  too  much  of  a  gentleman." 

"!N"o,  Sir,  yet  you  are  right ;  that  is  just  the  rub,  in  fact, 
don't  you  see,  Sir?  If  Aikrigg  is  right — Clinton  would 
marry  the  girl.  As  you  have  just  said,  Clinton's  not  the 
other  sort;  he  is  a  bit  too  much  the  honourable  fine-gentle- 
man." 

"Oh,  oh.  .  .  ."  The  old  man  showed  his  disappointment, 


THE    BORN    FOOL  329 

his  perplexity,  and  his  great  brows  twitched  as  he  looked  at 
Brough,  who  spoke  again — 

"But  I  could  not  forgive  myself,  Sir,  if  I  injured  him 
with  you.  But  this  is,  to  some  extent,  why  I  suggested  he 
should  go  to  Whitdale.  It's  a  difficult  piece  of  work  too 
.  .  .  very  difficult,  quite  beyond  Charlie.  It's  no  good  what- 
ever, in  my  small  experience,  Sir,  to  speak  to  a  youngster  on 
the  subject  of  women.  I  tell  you,  I  nearly  married  that  little 
minx  down  at  Mundenhurst ;  and  I  don't  consider  myself  alto- 
gether a  fool,  and  young  Clinton  is  a  Trojan  at  work,  he  has 
real  talent,  gets  on  with  his  men,  and  I  never  have  to  go  near 
him.  It  would  be  such  a  mess  .  .  .  from  all  points  of  view." 

Bendigo  and  Brough  were  both  temperate  drinkers  but 
to-day  they  had  each  taken  more  wine  than  usual.  The  old 
man  felt  quite  fatherly  now  the  position  was  shown  to  him. 

"Brough,"  said  he  putting  a  hand  on  his  companion's 
arm,  "do  you  inquire  at  once.  Sound  the  boy  yourself.  I 
can't  think  that  this  Aikrigg  is  right;  it's  mere  gossip;  it 
must  have  shown  in  his  work.  .  .  .  Yes,  it  would  have 
shown  in  his  work.  ...  I  must  not  let  him  go  wrong  like 
that,  we  might  lose  a  good  youngster,  and  ...  ah  ...  I 
feel  a  real  responsibility  .  .  .  sound  him,  sound  him!  and 
write  privately  to  me.  .  .  .  No,  no,  oh,  no,  I  agree  that 
they  do  want  looking  after.  Ah  no,  but  I  thought  the  boy 
different,  greater  common-sense.  You  did  very  well  to  tell  me 
...  if  we  must  move  him  .  .  .  you  say  it's  all  plain  sailing 
now,  Bruside?" 

"Apple-pie  order,  not  even  a  cement  bag  lying  about!  I 
was  at  Bruside  a  week  ago.  He's  done  very  well  indeed." 

"Tut-tut!  it's  half  past  three!  what?  Come  out  a  little 
before  it  grows  dark,  my  boy,  I  want  to  show  you  the  new 
Clydesdale,  a  grand  fellow,  a  grand  horse !" 

As  they  put  on  their  coats  in  the  hall  Mr.  Bendigo  began 
to  laugh  heavily,  his  eyebrows  twitched  as  he  took  hold  of 
Brough's  arm. — "But  if  we  give  him  a  rise  now,  he'd  ran  off 
and  get  married,  the  young  dog!"  and  they  went  out  laughing. 


CHAPTER  XLII 

MARCH  had  passed,  the  dark  hills  again  had  been  cov- 
ered through  the  long  nights  with  creeping  lines  of 
fire.  The  earliest  days  of  April  had  been  blue  and  scented 
with  the  moorland  smoke.  Again  was  heard  the  larks'  fitful 
song  in  the  windy  cloudy  skies;  and  May  approached  as  of 
old. 

But  Marian  suffered  an  agony  of  grief  concealed,  for  Kirk 
still  had  not  spoken ;  and  at  times  he  showed  even  a  coldness 
towards  her.  Kirk  himself  had  suffered,  was  suffering,  a 
revulsion,  the  loss  of  self-respect,  a  deep  abasement,  the  loss 
of  love,  and  was  now  at  death-grip  with  his  honour — the  sole 
virtue  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  retained.  That  which  he  daily 
and  nightly  brooded  on  distractedly — and  could  not  decide 
upon — was,  should  he  marry  her  ?  or,  should  he  go  away  and 
kill  himself  ?  If  he  married  her,  he  would  save  the  girl ;  if 
he  killed  himself,  he  would  escape  from  this  horrible  life, 
and  the  miserable  selfish  animal  he  had  discovered  in  him- 
self would  die,  and  he  would  be  at  rest  in  oblivion  from  his 
inconstancy  and  grief. 

But  that  would  kill  Marian;  for  she,  he  was  quite  cer- 
tain, would  kill  herself  unless  he  comforted  her. 

Repeatedly  he  had  been  on  the  point  of  offering  her  mar- 
riage, but  each  time,  at  the  crucial  moment,  the  insincerity  of 
it  shocked  and  revolted  his  nature.  He  could  not  begin  to  say 
the  lie,  "I  love  you" ;  and  yet  he  could  not  terminate  their  re- 
lations for  that  was  too  great  a  selfishness  and  cruelty.  To 
leave  her  was  to  kill  her.  He  of  all  men  could  not  bring 
himself  to  break  a  girl's  heart.  Honour  and  cowardice,  sel- 
fishness and  self-sacrifice,  waged  in  him  an  exhausting,  re- 
lentless, ceaseless  fight,  night  and  day.  He  had  no  single 

330 


THE    BOKN   FOOL  331 

minute's  peace  of  mind  except  when  he  slept  heavily;  hut 
the  awakenings  were  each  anguished.  His  work  was  intensely 
distasteful,  all  human  beings  were  distasteful  to  him ;  he  was 
silent,  almost  morose,  and  fearful  of  himself  he  feverishly 
filled  his  spare  time  up  with  work  in  which  he  took  a  fic- 
titious and  goaded  interest. 

By  her  secret  distress  Marian  hecame  chastened  in  body 
and  spirit.  She  was  pale  and  thinner,  less  fleshy,  less 
physical,  and  therefore  more  attractive  to  a  man  of  Kirk's 
temperament.  As  he  watched  her,  how  desperately  he  fought 
at  times  to  recover  that  lovely  ideal  in  which  the  girl  had 
once  lived ;  but  instead,  an  intense  pity  grew  in  him,  replac- 
ing to  some  extent  the  drear  void  left  by  that  departed,  high, 
beauteous  physical-sensuous  love.  He  sorrowed  acutely  as 
can  only  the  young  over  the  loss  of  his  exquisite-seeming 
love.  He  had  lost  with  it  his  feeling  of  irresistible  strength 
and  honour,  and  every  vestige  of  that  love,  ecstasy,  and  joy 
in  nature.  He  had  lost  all.  The  first  song  of  the  little 
hedge-bird  had  pierced  him,  it  had  pierced  him  through  and 
through  with  grief. 

Thought  of  escape  often  found  entrance  in  him  despite 
himself,  and  then  he  wished  indeed  that  the  Whitdale  work 
had  been  given  to  him.  He  had  even  begun  to  pack  up  his 
things,  when  the  countermanding  telegram  arrived  telling 
him  to  remain  at  Bruside.  But  at  each  recollection  he  re- 
membered that  he  would,  that  he  must  perforce,  have  spoken 
to  Marian  before  he  went. 

Many  times  he  cried  out  in  secret  to  himself,  "Oh  God! 
why  am  I  wretched  and  fickle?  why  am  I  inconstant?  Oh 
God !  is  she  not  pure  ?  affectionate  ?  and  good  ?  Ah,  why  was 
I  given  that  great,  great  power  of  loving,  only  to  have  it  taken 
from  me  ?" 

His  depression  was  communicated  to  the  household.  Intui- 
tively they  knew  somewhat  of  the  desperate  conflict  in  his 


332  THE    BORN    FOOL 

soul,  and  they  furtively  watched  the  lovers;  even  to  Dinah 
was  borne  in  the  nearness  of  some  tragedy. 

Marian's  body  had  often  been  much  affected  by  her  mind. 
Of  late  she  had  done  her  work  ill,  and  week  by  week  she 
showed  greater  exhaustion.  Several  times  in  March  the  over- 
looker had  spoken  roughly  to  her — this  had  never  before  oc- 
curred; and  now  for  weeks  George  Sutcliffe,  watching  his 
work-people  pass  the  turnstile  in  the  cold  bitter  mornings, 
had  ceased  to  give  Marian  that  customary  "Good  morning, 
lass,"  that  he  reserved  for  the  old  hands  and  the  better-class 
girls.  Dinah  had  jeered,  first  behind  Marian's  back  and  then 
openly,  because  her  sister's  earnings  were  much  below  the 
average — but  her  real  motive  was  that  secret  jealousy  which 
burned  on  in  her  each  time  she  detected  Kirk  giving  any 
special  attention  to  her  sister. 

All  were  paid  by  piece-work,  and  instead  of  bringing  home 
the  usual  twenty-two  to  twenty-six  shillings  Marian  for  weeks 
had  put  into  her  mother's  hands  on  Saturdays  sums  so  small 
as  seventeen  shillings.  The  girl  concentrated  herself  in  con- 
cealment. She  had  as  an  impressionable  child  ingested  from 
her  stepmother  and  environment  a  strength  of  hard  and  sul- 
len pride,  and  this  now  alone  upheld  her.  The  change  in  her 
health  had  been  so  gradual  that  Kirk  by  an  extraordinary 
blindness  failed  to  see  except  in  part  how  much  this  pas- 
sionate girl  was  suffering  through  himself.  On  a  Saturday 
late  in  March  she  had  come  in  some  time  behind  tne  others, 
and  she  put  her  wages  into  Mrs.  Gisburn's  hands,  not  looking 
at  her — but  painfully  speaking — 

"I  can't  help  it,  Mother." 

The  hard  old  woman  was  touched  for  once  and  said  kindly 
and  very  unexpectedly, 

"Never  mind,  Marian,  my  lass,  get  your  tea." 

The  girl  went  hastily  into  the  kitchen,  forced  back  the 
tears,  carefully  wiped  her  eyes,  looked  fearfully  at  her  face 
in  the  little  glass,  and  then  came  in  again  outwardly  composed 
but  with  despair  in  her  soul.  No  one  should  ever  know  what 


THE    BOKN    FOOL  333 

she  felt.  She  would  have  to  drown  herself  in  the  lodge.  She 
had  gone  to  do  it  after  Jim  Thornaber,  to  whom  she  was  then 
engaged,  had  suddenly  insulted  and  deeply  hurt  her,  but 
Dinah  had  run  hard  after  her  and  brought  her  back.  .  .  . 
"Ah,"  thought  she,  "Dinah  wasn't  bad  then.  Now  there 
isn't  one  I  can  ever  tell." 

As  occurs  so  frequently  in  the  North,  winter  suddenly  re- 
turned. On  April  the  fifth — a  Friday — the  soiled  and  trod- 
den snow,  the  frozen  slush,  formed  a  hard  crust  in  the  main 
street  of  Bruside.  The  moors  all  around  were  again  white, 
and  the  frost  was  so  extreme  that  Kirk's  work  was  brought 
practically  to  a  standstill.  Late  in  the  afternoon  he  finished 
at  the  office,  and,  unwilling  to  return  home,  he  went  up  on  to 
the  moors,  walking  along  miserable  and  aimless  until  the 
night  fell  round  him.  His  mind  was  in  a  state  of  stupor. 
Sirius  began  to  scintillate  splendidly  in  the  South,  the  deep 
valleys  filled  with  cold  mist  though  overhead  all  was  clear 
and  cloudless,  and  the  full  moon  had  risen  in  the  East.  Kirk 
with  distracted  eyes  saw  the  treads  of  feathered  feet  left  by 
the  grouse,  and  he  saw  the  exquisite  crystals  glittering  like 
diamonds  on  the  round  slope  of  snow  that  he  ascended.  He 
slipped,  falling  to  his  knees.  He  remained  on  his  knees,  his 
hands  in  the  snow.  In  that  attitude  of  supplication  he  cried 
out  silently  the  burden  of  his  feelings.  "Oh,  mother!  Oh, 
good  spirits !  if  you  exist ;  Oh,  God  of  Sirius !  if  you  exist, 
Oh,  powers  greater  than  myself !  if  you  exist — force  me  to  do 
right,  force  me  on,  spare  me  nothing,  force  me  against  my 
wretched  will." 

He  remained  there,  paralysed  in  mind,  unable  to  move  for 
some  minutes.  Consciousness  of  the  futility  of  expecting 
help  and  guidance  from  the  starry  void,  from  anything,  or 
any  being — returned  into  his  mind.  He  slowly  regained  hit 
feet  and  stood  questioning  himself. 

"How  can  I  marry  a  pure  woman  if  I  don't  love  her? 
If  she  found  out  it  would  break  her  heart,  just  the  same,  just 


334  THE    BORN   FOOL 

the  same  ...  as  if  I  went  away  now."  He  shrank  as  he 
imagined  himself  saying  to  her  words  of  love  that  he  did  not 
feel. 

As  he  went  slowly  downwards  towards  the  village  lights, 
a  new  idea  came  to  him  and  he  stood  still,  eagerly  holding  it. 

"But  if  I  do  not  love  her,  how  could  I  be  so  terribly 
troubled  ?  If  I  do  not  love  her,  why  can  I  not  bear  to  see 
her  hurt  ?  nor  endure  the  idea  of  deserting  her  ?  I  know  noth- 
ing. .  .  .  Oh  God !  if  you  do  exist,  I  humbly  implore  you  to 
help  me." 

"Perhaps  it  is  all  only  horrible  thoughts  that  I  am  troubled 
by?"  A  wild  gleam  of  hope  filled  him  once  more  as  he  re- 
turned to  the  house.  But,  by  the  following  evening,  this 
fitful  hope  had  died  away,  and  he  was  the  worse  for  it.  He 
came  home  again,  depressed  and  morose. 

The  frost  continuing  had  made  weaving  difficult,  for  the 
air  was  so  dry.  Marian's  looms  had  been  stopped  again  and 
again  since  early  morning.  She  had  been  stooping  over 
them  all  day.  She  remained  behind  a  few  minutes,  after  the 
mill  had  stopped.  The  severe  pain  in  her  back  which  had 
troubled  her  more  and  more  during  the  past  weeks  had  be- 
come acute  during  this  afternoon.  The  frequent  stooping,  the 
lack  of  any  rest,  the  mental  anguish,  had  much  aggravated 
the  pain,  and  by  herself  she  walked  stoopingly  towards  home. 

Physical  miseries  are  all  the  harder  to  bear  when  we  are 
in  sorrow.  As  she  neared  home  she  had  to  cross  a  piece  of 
glassy  road  on  which  no  ashes  had  been  thrown.  She  fell 
and  severely  bruised  her  hip,  but  got  up  again  as  soon  as  she 
could,  for  two  bullet-headed  boys  were  laughing  at  her.  The 
added  pain  and  their  lack  of  sympathy  brought  tears  into  her 
dry  suffering  eyes.  She  entered  the  house.  A  little  snow 
clung  to  her  dress  where  her  hip  had  struck  the  stone-paved 
road.  She  passed  through  the  large  room  on  her  way  to  the 
stairs.  She  did  not  see  Kirk  sitting  there  by  himself — but 


THE    BORN    FOOL  335 

the  look  upon  her  face  had  stricken  him.  As  he  heard  her 
slow  steps  on  the  staircase,  the  whole  of  his  selfish  thoughts 
left  him  and  he  was  filled  only  with  that  divine  pity,  that 
strong  manhood  and  putting  away  of  the  self  that  is  so  akin 
to  love.  A  serene  goodness  filled  him  as  he  asked  himself 
with  astonishment, — 

"What  on  earth  do  /  matter?  What  can  I  have  been 
thinking  all  this  time  ?  It's  so  marvellously  plain !  It's  given 
to  me  to  take  care  of  Marian  all  her  life !  I'm  utterly  un- 
worthy of  her — she  is  so  pure,  that  was  why  she  did  that, — 
she  felt  my  horrible  feeling,  I  did  not  recognise  it,  she's  abso- 
lutely innocent,  and  didn't  know  what  she  hated,  but  I  can 
and  I  will  look  after  her  materially." 

The  consummation  of  marriage,  pure  and  natural  solely 
for  those  who  truly  love, — he  would  not  and  could  not  imag- 
ine. The  plain  thing  now  was  to  save  her  from  this  cruel 
life,  and  comfort  her. 

The  evening  meal  delayed  a  little  for  himself  was  nearly 
over.  Mrs.  Gisburn  was  eager  and  impatient  to  begin  the 
weekly  minute  and  laborious  house-cleaning  on  which  she  so 
prided  herself.  There  was  much  to  be  done.  It  would  take 
till  eleven  to-night  and  the  best  part  of  Saturday  afternoon 
and  evening  to  get  all  done.  Supported  grimly  by  Kirk  the 
sisters  last  week  had  not  polished  the  furniture ;  and  certain 
numerous  copper  saucepans  and  metal  dish-covers — seldom 
used — had  not  been  polished — they  had  only  been  rubbed 
over  with  a  cloth !  The  bedroom  carpets  had  not  been  taken 
up  as  usual,  to  be  shaken  and  beaten — sometimes  by  lamp- 
light— on  the  back  paving,  and  these  and  other  defects  had 
lain  heavily  all  the  week  upon  Mrs.  Gisburn's  mind.  But 
she  and  Ruth  had  been  so  busy  with  the  wash,  with  baking, 
with  the  entirely  unneeded  whitewashing  of  the  cellars,  and 
the  back  premises,  that  the  furniture  actually  had  been  un- 
polished for  an  entire  fortnight ! — a  neglect  never  before  per- 
mitted. The  upsetting  of  such  a  habit,  a  second  nature  built 
into  Mrs.  Gisburn  by  her  own  stern  mother,  affected  her  al- 


336  THE   BOKNT   FOOL 

most  as  deeply  as  a  forgery  would  upset  the  conscience  of 
an  elderly  respectable  head  bank-clerk.  She  scarcely  ate  her 
own  meal  and  the  moment  Kirk  finished  and  left  the  table, 
she  stood  up  briskly  and  began  to  speak  in  a  strong  reproving 
voice — 

"Come  on,  gurls,  it's  Friday  night,  and  th'  house  in  a  fair 
mess  right  through;  come  on,  every  one  of  ye,  Ruth  and 
Marian  get  th'pots  washed  up  quick ;  Mesther  Clinton'ull  not 
mind  working  in  best  parlour  for  a  bit,  I  daresay." 

As  she  spoke,  the  sisters  of  habit  and  obedience  began  to 
stir  reluctantly,  but  each  face  was  weary.  These  grown 
people  remained  abjectly  responsive  to  the  commands  of  the 
woman  who  had  always  exerted  ascendancy  over  them,  from 
their  motherless  childhood. 

Kirk  had  returned  for  a  moment  into  the  living-room  to 
get  something  he  wanted,  but  first  he  had  thought  for  several 
minutes  over  the  ridiculous  waste  of  energy  in  keeping 
bright  the  polished  surfaces  of  useless  things  merely  out  of 
vanity.  He  had  read  much  socialistic  writing  of  the  Blatch- 
f ord  type,  and  from  the  whole  he  had  taken  to  heart  the  argu- 
ment that  all  furniture,  walls,  fire-grates,  floors,  utensils,  etc., 
should  be  so  made  and  painted  as  to  require  little  or  no 
precious  human  labour  spending  on  them.  Thus  the  human 
race  would  be  saved  some  unnecessary  toil,  and  be  given  more 
leisure  for  things  that  civilised  and  elevated.  Mrs.  Gisburn 
had  always  complaisantly  received  his  arguments — it  was 
just  young  men's  talk!  Dinah  on  her  knees  in  the  large 
living  room  viciously  polished  the  leg  of  an  ordinary  kitchen 
chair.  Jim  on  the  stepladder  was  handing  down  to  his  mother 
those  absurd  and  never  used  brass  pans  and  numerous  extra 
dish-covers.  Marian  and  Ruth  were  washing  up  on  the  large 
plain  wood  table.  Marian  had  a  white  apron  tied  on,  and 
she  stooped  painfully  over  the  pan  of  hot  water.  She  was 
extremely  pale  to-night  and  seemed  strangely  patient. 

As  Kirk  re-entered  unnoticed  in  the  bustle,  the  strong 


THE    BORN   FOOL  337 

odour  of  furniture  paste  met  him  and  he  heard  Dinah's  sav- 
age remark  as  she  looked  up  at  Marian. 

"Ye'll  have  to  wash  them  and  to-night,  my  lass !  it's  your 
turn,  and  I'm  not  going  to  do  the  spare  room  by  meself  to- 
morrow !  it's  her  turn,  mother,  tell  her." 

"Wash  what  ?"  said  Kirk  sternly,  his  face  hardening. 

Dinah  glanced  at  him  suddenly. 

"Why,  th'lobby  and  th'floors." 

Holding  two  wet  plates  in  her  hand  Marian,  standing  in 
the  same  peculiar  stooping  attitude,  began  to  speak  hysteric- 
ally, banging  the  plates  feebly  on  the  table,  as  it  were  to 
emphasise  her  words — 

"I  can't,  do,  any,  more.  I  wish  I  was  dead.  I've — been 
on  me  legs,  since  five  o'clock — and  me  back's — that  bad — " 
She  began  to  sob. 

Kirk — quite  infuriated — gently  took  her  by  the  arm  and 
seated  her  upon  the  sofa,  he  took  the  plates  from  her  lap  and 
threw  them  on  the  table ;  one  broke. 

"You  idiotic  woman !  Do  you  value  furniture  more  than 
the  happiness  of  your  daughters  ?  Do  you  want  them  to  hate 
you?  Do  you  see  they  hate  to  hear  your  voice?  Do  you 
know  what  mill-work  is  ?  NO !  you  have  never  had  any 
frightful  weary  day  at  it.  You  have  not  once  entered  a  mill ! 
Even  I  know  more  of  these  girls  than  you  do.  You  are  ruin- 
ing their  health,  and  their  life,  and  their  spirit, — with  your 
damned  furniture  and  fads." 

She  had  drawn  in  her  breath  quickly,  and  her  face  had 
gone  angry  and  irascible,  but  Kirk  was  angrier.  His  eyes 
had  the  stillness  of  command.  He  spoke — standing  motion- 
less— as  he  had  done  to  truculent  men — with  the  hard-grating 
brutality  inherited  from  his  father,  with  that  natural  inborn 
power  of  command,  which,  when  exerted,  is  never  disobeyed. 

"No.    Stop,  woman. — Or  they  shall  leave  you." 

Mrs.  Gisburn  sank  backwards  into  a  chair  as  though  a 
bayonet  threatened  her. 


338  THE    BORN    FOOL 

He  raised  Marian  to  her  feet,  glanced  at  Mrs.  Gisburn  and 
said, 

"Come  into  the  front  room,  all  but  she."  He  held  the  door, 
and  after  the  girls  and  Jim  had  passed  through  he  locked  it. 

"Now  you  will  rebel  against  this.  It  will  not  do  one  day 
longer.  Sit  down,  Marian  dear,  lie  down  on  the  sofa.  .  .  . 
I  shall  back  you  up.  You  have  nothing  to  fear.  If  needful 
you  will  withhold  your  wages  from  her,  and  I  will  take  charge 
of  all  money.  But  she  will  settle  down  into  the  new  order 
in  no-time.  Meanwhile,  you  will  obey  me. 

"I  will  improve  things  at  once.  Later — your  step-mother 
will  be  glad,  very  glad.  I  am  your  friend.  You  know  I 
feel  very  much  for  you,  and  wheresoever  I  am  in  future  years 
I'll  help  you  in  trouble.  And  now  to  business." 

He  took  from  his  pocket  a  small  diary,  looked  for  some 
blank  pages,  then  put  down  the  diary  and  obtained  a  piece  of 
foolscap  from  the  writing-table.  Jim,  so  far  acquiescent, 
caught  his  eye,  laughed  nervously,  and  spoke  quietly — 

"However  tha't  going  to  get  ower  th'owd  'un,  nay!  Ar 
konno'  tell !  Tha's  takken  my  breath  away !" 

Kirk  looked  up  with  a  fierce  smile. 

"You'll  see.  And  you,  Ruth,  don't  be  shocked.  We  are 
doing  a  right  and  just  thing. 

"Now,  Ruth,  first  of  all,  I  want  a  complete  list  of  all  that 
so  far  has  been  done  weekly  in  the  house.  We'll  take  it  in 
days — Monday  first.  I  shall  then  cut  out  everything  unneed- 
ful,  and  the  rest  will  be  divided  between  you,  and  be  honour- 
ably done,  without  quarrelling  or  grumbling.  Besides,  each 
will  know  her  exact  time  and  work,  and  each  will  have  but 
half  as  much  to  do,  when  I've  done  with  it !  Come  on,  Ruth, 
and  you  others  check  her."  He  looked  round  at  Marian. 
Her  eyes  were  shut. 

"Never  mind  her,  Mr.  Clinton.  I  think  Oo's  asleep,  it's 
just  what  t'  lass  wants,"  said  Jim. 

In  about  half  an  hour,  after  arbitration  carried  on  in  low 
voices  between  Ruth  and  Dinah  and  settled  decisively  point 


THE    BORN   FOOL  339 

after  point  by  Kirk,  each  girl's  division  and  rotation  of  house- 
work had  been  determined,  and  on  the  fly-leaf  and  blank 
pages  at  the  front  of  his  own  pocket-diary,  Kirk  wrote  a 
little  time-table  beneath  each  sister's  name  and  one  beneath 
his  own.  Certain  scrubbings  that  fell  to  Marian  had  been 
struck  out  and  booked  to  himself. 

"Furniture  will  only  be  polished  every  six  weeks,"  wrote 
Kirk.  "That's  a  good  reform,"  said  he,  reading  it  over 
with  satisfaction,  "and  now  we  better  make  substitution 
rules." 

This  also  was  done,  and  Jim,  his  tepid  socialism  for  once 
afire,  delightedly  added  a  word  of  advice — 

"Well!  you  lasses!  Mesther  Clinton's  knocked  th'owd 
leddy  longways !  an'  none  hurt  her,  netther ;  it's  t'best  for  all 
o'thee,  her  as  much  as  ony.  All  thee's  got  to  do  is  to  mak  a 
gradely  job,  an'  t'houd  fast  like  goom  by  they  rools,  an* 
each  do  thee  bit  fair  an'  square.  If  th'owd  leddy  says  awt, 
tha's  but  got  to  ser,  'Mesther  Clinton's  med  rool,  and  thee 
mun  set  down  to  it.'  Er'll  none  go  agen  him,  tha'll  see! 
Her '11  do  more  for  Mesther  Clinton  than  for  ony  o'  ye !" 

"As  regards  Marian's  work,"  said  Kirk,  "I  shall  do  most 
of  it  myself,  while  she  is,  as  we  can  all  see,  so  poorly  and 
done  up.  It's  my  right  to  help  any  one  of  you,  if  you  are  not 
well,  and  I  shall  help  you,  Dinah,  or  you,  Ruth,  just  the  same 
if  the  need  arises." 

"But  you  can't  do  that!"  said  Ruth,  at  last  speaking  and 
much  troubled.  "Mother  would  never  hear  of  it !  and  besides, 
I  hope  Marian  would  be  too  much  ashamed  to  let  you  do 
such  a  thing,  and " 

"Stop,  Ruth !  How  can  you  or  Mrs.  Gisburn  prevent  me  ? 
.  .  .  You  must  never  again  speak  like  that,  it  is  not  right." 

Kirk  smiled  confidently.  "And  I  have  not  asked  Marian's 
leave,  nor  yours,  and  shall  not  do  so.  I  do  it  because  I  choose 
to  do  it." 

"But  if  some  one  comes  in  and  sees  you  ?"  timidly  asked 
Ruth. 


340  THE    BOKK   FOOL 

"Bnt  they  won't ;  I  shall  keep  the  door  locked,  and  clear 
out  while  you  open  it — 0  full  of  thought !" 

Jim  and  Dinah  laughed.  Dinah  was  intensely  eager  to  see 
Kirk  wash  floors,  to  see  if  he  could  really  continue  to  "get 
over  mother,"  but  Ruth  felt  quite  mentally  disordered. 

"Now  we  shall  attack  your  mother,"  said  Kirk,  standing 
up.  "The  attack  will  be  simply  obeying  the  new  rules,  and 
we  shall  begin  now.  To-night  we  will  do  the  following  work 
only." 

During  the  next  hour  an  extraordinary  brisk  cheerfulness 
animated  those  around  Mrs.  Gisburn.  It  was  so  odd  to  feel 
sorry  for  her  in  a  humorous  kind  of  way.  She  remained 
silent,  taking  no  part,  and  sat  there  most  of  the  time  in  a 
kind  of  stupor,  and  she  watched  Kirk  while  he  did  Marian's 
part  and  helped  Ruth.  At  last  she  stood  up,  and  began  as  it 
were  humbly  to  assist  her  step-daughters. 


CHAPTEE 

MARIAN  was  to  remain  at  home  for  ten  days  for  the 
sake  of  the  change  and  partial  rest  obtainable,  and 
Ruth  would  replace  her  at  the  mill.  This  was  satisfactory  to 
all,  for  the  loss  of  six  or  seven  shillings  a  week  through 
Marian's  poor  weaving  was  a  serious  matter  in  their  eyes,  and 
Ruth  was  a  good  weaver. 

Kirk  himself  stayed  in  next  afternoon  and  he  found  that 
he  could  scrub  floors,  wash  pots,  polish  furniture,  etc.,  quite 
as  well  as  any  one. 

A  sudden  and  tremendous  flood  caused  by  heavy  rain  fall- 
ing on  quickly-melting  deep  snow  rushed  down  the  river  for 
many  hours  on  Sunday,  and  rose  until  midnight.  Kirk  had 
been  sent  for  hastily  at  six  o'clock  that  evening.  Himself 
and  every  man  available  worked  strenuously  till  three  next 
morning  and  by  their  efforts  prevented  serious  injury  to  the 
new  unfinished  river-wall,  and  to  the  new  bridge.  Fortu- 
nately they  had  abundant  broken  stone  near  at  hand.  With 
this  material  they  pushed  out  here  and  there  a  temporary 
groin.  These  saved  further  damage  and  without  doubt 
stopped  destruction  of  the  bridge.  At  one  o'clock  in  the 
morning  when  the  men  were  somewhat  flagging,  Kirk  with 
permission  from  a  handy  police-inspector  sent  to  a  near-by 
public-house — and  a  quart  of  beer  was  soon  served  out  all 
round,  and  the  work  went  on  quicker.  Two  hours  later,  Kirk, 
happy  by  reason  of  great  effort  successful  in  result,  thought 
to  himself,  "I  understand  men  better  than  I  shall  ever  un- 
derstand women  .  .  .  But  I  do  understand  one,  and  I  shall 
propose  to  her  to-morrow — no!  to-day!  of  course." 

341 


342  THE    BORN    FOOL 

He  toiled  up  the  long  hill  to  Bruside.  There  was  a  deep 
relief  in  the  prospect  of  setting  Marian's  heart  at  rest.  He 
thought  carefully  what  words  he  would  use — "Marian,  will 
you  honour  me  by  marrying  me?"  or  "Marian  dear,  I  am 
only  poor,  but  I  will  make  you  happy ;  will  you  marry  me  ?" 
The  last  he  decided  was  the  better.  He  let  himself  into  the 
house  with  his  latchkey. 

To  his  surprise  Mrs.  Gisburn  was  sitting  up,  a  fire  burned 
brightly,  and  the  table  was  laid  for  himself. 

"Oh !  Mrs.  Gisburn !  you  should  on  no  account  have  stayed 
up  for  me!  You  must  be  tired  to  death.  Did  you  not  get 
my  message?  Why!  it's  half -past  three!  I  sent  a  mes- 
senger." 

"I  got  message  all-reet,  but  ye  don't  think  I'd  goo  to  bed 
and  leave  ye  to  come  in  all  starved  and  wet,  and  no  one  to 
see  to  ye  ?" 

"Why,  it's  very  kind  and  thoughtful  of  you." 

"Nay,  .  .  .  ye've  said  some  cruel  things  to  me  .  .  .  but  I 
know  men;  ye'd  have  come  in,  and  gone  oif  to  y'r  bed  all 
starved." 

Kirk  stood  and  looked  down  at  the  cloth.  He  spoke  very 
persuasively  and  gently.  "But  isn't  what  I  did  for  the  best  ?" 

She  turned  and  stood  stiffly  by  the  fire,  her  straight  up- 
right back  towards  him,  she  was  more  deeply  moved  than  he 
knew.  At  last  she  replied  reluctantly : 

"Ay  .  .  .  happen  it's  for  t'best  .  .  .  I'm  getting  an  owd 
woman." 

"Why,  of  course  it  was  for  the  best." 

He  took  her  hard  hand  in  his  own  and  drew  her  round  to 
face  himself  as  he  spoke.  "You  were  working  your  own 
self  to  death,  as  well  as  the  girls.  Why,  you  know  you  were !" 
Kirk  began  to  smile. 

"You  know  you  were,  and  now  you're  glad  a  man  stopped 
you !"  She  suddenly  took  his  hand  anew,  and  gripped  it 
twice. 

"Now  you  go  to  bed,"  said  he. 


THE    BOKN    FOOL  343 

Kirk  slept  until  late  in  the  morning.  He  was  awakened 
by  Mrs.  Gisburn  knocking  and  entering  with  a  breakfast- 
tray.  She  put  it  upon  a  small  table  near  him. 

"I  woke  ye  because  it's  none  good  for  ye  to  lie  so  long 
wi'out  meat.  Ye  can  ring  the  little  bell  when  ye've  done, 
so  me  and  Marian  can  wash  pots  up,  and  ye  should  lie  in  bed 
till  middle  o'  the  day." 

Twenty  minutes  later,  Kirk  as  he  sat  up  listened,  and  felt 
certain  he  heard  Mrs.  Gisburn  go  out  on  some  errand.  With 
a  beating  heart  he  rang  the  bell  and  waited,  he  rang  again, 
and  then  heard  footsteps  on  the  stair.  The  girl  knocked.  As 
she  entered  he  beheld  her  pale  thinned  face,  her  wistful  eyes 
endeavouring  to  smile  at  him  ordinarily,  and  he  was  filled 
with  an  intense  lovable  impulse.  "How  could  I  possibly 
not  have  loved  her?" 

"Marian,  you  know  I  love  you." 

She  came  unsteadily  across  the  room  to  the  low  bed  and 
sank  down  on  his  breast,  and  like  a  big  child  she  hid  her 
face  in  his  neck.  Twice  he  kissed  her  flushed  cheek.  His 
arms  were  round  her.  Her  bosom  upon  his :  a  strange  new 
sensation  for  him.  For  a  minute  he  was  happy.  Then 
Marian  raised  herself  from  him  a  little,  saying  in  a  kind  of 
ashamed  and  low,  but  aggressive  voice — 

"I  want  a  man  who  will  kiss  me." 

A  profound  revulsion  shocked  Kirk — he  thrust  it  out.  He 
kissed  her  twice  on  the  forehead,  then  on  the  lips.  Again 
her  head  dropped  on  him.  Now,  indeed,  it  came  upon  him 
with  great  fear  that  he  had  done  the  terrible  and  irretriev- 
able act.  For,  if  he  did  not  love  her,  he  could  not  conceal  it. 
His  lips  were  dry,  his  face  pale.  By  sheer  strength  of  will 
he  stroked  her  pale  beautiful  hair ;  but  he  felt  as  Judas,  when 
he  too  gave  the  traitor's  kiss.  He  saw  into  the  future,  it 
would  break  this  girl's  heart.  But  while  she  lay  in  his  arms 
he  strove  with  the  uttermost  power  of  soul  and  body  to  keep 
control — "She  shall  not  find  out.  God !  God !  help  me,  she  is 
your  child !"  Silently  and  defiantly  he  cried  this.  Then  he 


344  THE    BORN    FOOL 

looked  out  distractedly  over  her  hair,  stroking  it  gently, — 
Ah — Ah — but  he  would  not  be  able  to  face  her  when  she 
knew.  He  could  think  of  nothing  but  death,  his  own  death. 
He  could  not  live  with  his  abominable  heart.  He  felt  all 
horribly  contracted;  his  pulse  scarcely  beat.  But  he  must 
speak. 

"Are  you  happy,  Marian  ?" 

"Yes." 

Her  voice  was  muffled,  but  unmistakably  happy.  Her  arms 
faintly  tightened  round  his  neck.  That  was  a  great  relief. 

"I  am  very  clever,  I  have  not  deceived  in  my  life,  but  I 
have  immense  power  to  do  so,  and  now  I  will,  I  must  and  I 
will,  deceive  even  this  girl."  A  sudden  alternative  presented 
itself.  He  thrust  it  away.  "She  shall  never  know,  never! 
never ! — or  else  I'll  shoot  us  both." 

They  had  not  heard  Mrs.  Gisburn  come  in  below.  Twice 
she  had  called  Marian ;  now  she  was  coming  upstairs.  Marian 
moved  to  withdraw  from  Kirk,  but  he  firmly  held  her  hand  as 
her  step-mother  stood  at  the  door.  Marian  was  very  em- 
barrassed, but  Kirk  said  with  a  strongly  forced  smile  and  a 
calmer  voice, 

"We  are  engaged,  Mrs.  Gisburn." 

"How  old  do  ye  think  she  is,  Mr.  Clinton  ?"  Mrs,  Gisburn 
asked  this  painfully  and  gravely. 

Kirk  smiled  strangely  as  he  looked  from  Marian  to  her 
mother. 

"She's  nigh  on  twenty-eight,"  said  Mrs,  Gisburn.  Marian 
did  not  move. 

".  .  .  Well?  What  of  that?"  Nothing  further  could' 
surprise  him,  or,  rather,  affect  him,  in  his  state  of  mind. 

"I've  told  ye.    She's  six  years  your  elder." 

"I  don't  care  if  she  is." 


CHAPTER  XLIV 

THE  night  following  upon  the  day  of  his  engagement  was 
terrible  to  Kirk.  He  had  no  sleep.  He  lived  through 
the  hours  minute  by  minute,  overwhelmed  by  the  fear  of  his 
own  thoughts — 

"I  have  deceived  her.  She  will  find  out.  It  will  kill  her. 
I've  broken  a  girl's  heart."  Eor  hours  he  turned  wretchedly 
on  his  bed  and  thought  of  suicide,  rejecting  it,  re-contem- 
plating it. 

"I  have  killed  her.  I  can't  go  through  it  again.  I've  done 
the  worst  sin  there  is !  I  cannot  face  her." 

He  feared  greatly  the  coming  day,  the  forced  horrible  re- 
newal of  sacrilege,  the  pretence  of  love,  the  agony  of  con- 
cealment, the  inevitable  disaster  that  must  happen  when  she 
knew  what  was  in  his  heart ;  he  feared  like  one  of  those  who 
has  undergone  horrible  physical  torture,  and  who  lies  through 
the  night  with  spoilt  limbs  and  nailless  hands ;  with  the  fear- 
ful, ever-present  recollections  of  the  extreme  moments  of 
agony.  He  lay  in  dead  fear,  like  one  of  these — awaiting  the 
footsteps  of  the  torturers  who  will  come  with  daylight. 

But  towards  dawn  his  hyper-sensitive  fears  and  feelings 
were  less  acute ;  for  they  were  become  numbed,  worn  out  for 
the  time,  and  were  replaced  by  the  profoundest  apathy  and 
sadness. 

The  cocks  began  to  crow.  Inexorably  another  day  had 
arrived.  The  sound  of  distant  crowing  had  always  made 
Kirk  full  of  sadness.  Dawn  in  the  most  wretched  districts, 
in  black  manufacturing  regions,  is  broken  always  by  the 
crowing  of  cocks — cramped  up  in  grimy  back  yards  and 
miserable  hopelessly-trodden  runs,  where  the  birds  live  out 
their  wretched  lives.  Even  amid  the  hills  and  downs  of  the 

345 


346  THE    BOKN    FOOL 

South,  the  distant  crowing  rising  into  the  pure  dawn  from 
solitary  farms,  in  the  silent  early  morning,  had  often,  in 
Kirk's  mind,  seemed  to  belong  to  the  endless  toil  of  mankind, 
the  heavy  pressure  of  existence;  the  forced  labour,  the  un- 
rested  limbs  again  dragged  painfully  from  the  heavy  sleep 
of  blessed  night,  the  banishment  of  all  sweetness,  the  dark 
separation  of  human  life  from  the  beautiful  ordered  harmony 
of  the  heavens,  the  seasons,  the  flowers,  the  forests,  the  sea  in 
many  colours.  For  us,  dawn  was  but  the  renewal  of  strife, 
the  re-saddling  of  the  sore  unhealed  back.  It  was  in  this 
heavy  spirit  that  he  languidly  and  nervously  arose  and 
dressed. 

But  youth  and  health  were  still  unbroken  in  him.  His 
ideals  still  fought  powerfully  for  life;  and  they  sustained 
him  and  brought  fleeting,  unnatural,  unexpected,  fickle  moods 
of  joy;  like  those  brief  blessed  lulls  in  a  fatal  painful  illness; 
and,  in  one  of  these  moods,  anxious  unconsciously  to  bind  and 
strengthen  his  resolves,  he  wrote  feverishly  to  Mrs.  Athorpe. 

"Mr  DEAREST  AUNT  ALICE, 

"Rejoice  with  me,  for  I  am  engaged  to  be  married  to  a  very  pure, 
devout,  and  affectionate  girl,  who  I  know  loves  me  deeply,  although 
I  am  utterly  unworthy  of  her — and  it  still  seems  so  strange  to  me 
that  she  should  love  me,  for  men  are  not  at  all  like  women,  who 
are  so  eternal  and  beautiful  in  the  constancy  of  the  love  they  give  us. 

"You  will  wish  to  know  what  she  is  like.  She  has  grey-blue  beau- 
tifully faithful  clear  eyes,  rather  a  rosy  face,  and  rich  pale  hair. 
She  lives  here  with  her  step-mother  and  her  sisters. 

"I  hope  you  are  feeling  better,  my  dear  Auntie,  and  that  your  gout 
has  quite  gone.  I  hope  you  will  leave  town  early  this  season  and 
spend  plenty  of  time  at  Cromer,  for  you  know  how  much  good  it 
always  does  you.  Please  remember  me  to  Canon  Athorpe,  and  give 
my  love  to  cousin  Eleanor.  I  hope  they  are  both  quite  well. 
"Believe  me  ever,  with  best  love, 

"Your  affectionate 

"KlRKPATRICK." 

He  handed  the  letter  to  Marian,  who  read  the  important 
paragraph.  A  slight  flush  rose  in  her  cheeks,  and  she  stooped 


THE    BORN    FOOL  347 

and  kissed  his  forehead.  He  drew  her  down  spontaneously 
and  kissed  her — as  he  would  have  done  with  Mary — as  a 
brother,  but  not  as  a  true-lover ;  yet  the  temporary  relief  and 
happiness  greatly  soothed  him. 

A  few  days  later  he  travelled  to  Liverpool  to  see  Brough 
and  discuss  certain  points  about  the  work  and  other  matters. 
Kirk  had  not  seen  Brough  for  two  months,  and  he  now  con- 
gratulated him  upon  his  new  prospects  as  a  director  and  a 
partner. 

They  spent  a  busy  afternoon  together,  until,  indeed,  it  was 
so  late  that  Brough  persuaded  Kirk  to  stay  with  him  for  the 
night.  So  Kirk  telegraphed  to  Bruside,  and  after  dinner  and 
wine  the  elder  man  took  Kirk  to  a  theatre. 

Kirk  this  evening  had  recovered  his  balance,  by  companion- 
ship with  Brough,  by  means  of  the  wine,  but  mostly  by  relief 
from  that  fearful  strain — the  counterfeiting  of  love.  For  he 
was  still  but  twenty-two,  and  full  of  much  bodily  and  mental 
strength.  Since  coming  to  know  Brough  well,  Kirk  had 
truly  fathomed  that  when  Brough  knelt  down  as  if  in  prayer, 
on  that  night  long  since  when  they  slept  in  the  same  room — 
he  had  done  this  solely  because  he  thought  it  would  prevent 
a  sensitive  shame  on  Kirk's  part — should  he  wish  to  say  his 
prayers.  The  delicacy  of  that  action,  only  understood  many 
months  later,  and  all  observation  subsequent  gradually  re- 
vealed Brough  to  Kirk  as  a  man  of  most  innate  goodness — 
but  one  who  protected  himself,  or  chose  to  mask  himself,  with 
an  external  hard  material  mentality.  Brough  in  his  ironical 
manner  still  called  Kirk  by  his  Christian  name,  and  Kirk 
much  liked  this  token  of  an  affection  or  liking  undeclared,  and 
not  needful  to  be  demonstrated  between  them.  Clinton  was 
unaware  of  the  complex  attraction  that  he  raised  in  Brough, 
who  was  peculiarly  charmed  by  Kirk's  strong  sense  of  honour, 
Quixotic  purity  of  mind  and  eye,  chivalrous  ideas  regard- 
ing women,  and  further,  by  his  young  colleague's  unspoiled 


348  THE    BORN    FOOL 

affectionate  nature — and  then  all  these  so  curiously  conjoined 
with  brains  and  great  practical  ability ! 

Kirk — in  the  happy  days — could  make  Brough  laugh 
heartily,  but  would  never  tell  ribald  stories,  and  Brough  had 
long  ceased  to  recount  them  in  Kirk's  presence — certainly 
not  those  crude  inventions  that  he  sometimes  interchanged 
with  other  men. 

Last  Christmas,  the  Bendigo  nephews — rather  full  of  wine 
and  just  a  little  nettled  by  Brough's  reference  to  Kirk  at  their 
expense — had  sought  to  chaff  and  draw  Brough,  and  they 
succeeded — in  a  way — 

"Yes,  yes,  yes,  flaccid,  rancid,  doocid,  Charleous  Charles, 
and  ginger-headed,  ginger-whiskered,  ginger-hearted  James — 
too  pious,  is  he?  And  therefore  odd  company  for  me?" 
drawled  Brough  with  irritable  choler.  "That  is  just  exactly 
why  I  like  him,  he  is  the  most  interesting  child  or  man  I  ever 
met.  He's  doocid  pi,  and  yet  most  damned  good  at  work, 
and  makes  it  pay  my  sons,  which  you  do  not,  O  my  whoreson 
beetleheaded  flap-eared  knaves !  and  he  is  witty,  too,  when  he 
has,  as  we  may  say,  the  time,  the  place,  the  loved  one  all  to- 
gether. .  .  .  Too  much  of  the  gentleman  ?  is  he  ?  coarse  ruf- 
fians !  Of  course  he  is,  for  you." 

Brough  drawled  all  this  oddly,  with  a  brutal  calmness,  add- 
ing the  last  words  rudely  and  in  matter-of-fact  tones  as  he 
knocked  out  his  pipe;  and  then  finally  rammed  his  meaning 
well  home: — 

"That  is  just  the  precise  difference,  between  you  two  and 
we  two." 

The  opera  pleased  Kirk  and  removed  him  from  reality, 
placing  him  back  firmly  for  the  nonce  in  that  heaven-world 
of  ideal  love.  It  was  long  since  he  had  been  to  a  theatre.  But 
the  music  failed  to  move  Brough — and  twice  Kirk  found  his 
friend's  eyes  fixed  upon  himself.  As  the  curtain  of  the  sec- 
ond act  descended,  Kirk  turned  to  Brough  and  expressed  a 
fervent  admiration.  The  music  had  wrought  on  him,  and  he 


THE    BOKN    FOOL  349 

was  filled  with  a  noble  sense  that  he  had,  in  face  of  all,  be- 
haved with  honour ;  that  he  had  done  rightly  and  bravely,  in 
adhering  to  Marian.  He  believed  he  had  recovered  his  love 
— yet,  the  next  moment,  Brough's  words — half  curious  semi- 
quizzing  words — strangely  chilled  him — "Were  I  a  silly  girl, 
I  think  I'd  fall  in  love  with  you !  .  .  .  Oft  times,  Kirkpat- 
rick,  thou  lookest  as  though  thou  wert  positively  made  for 
love,  thy  body  and  thy  soul." 

".  .  .  Do  I?" 

In  Kirk's  mind,  very  painful  and  poignant  thoughts  be- 
gan to  interweave  with  the  words  that  Brough  now  uttered : — 

"I'll  tell  you  something  now."  .  .  .  "Myself  and  the  Old 
Man  heard  you  were  falling  head  over  heels  in  love  with  some 
village  girl — but  later  on,  Aikrigg,  my  trusty  spy,  said  it  was 
only  a  flirtation,  Kirk-patrick" — Brough  dwelt  on  the  name 
— "and  even  that,  Kirk-patrick,  surprised  us;  but  we  were 
glad,  nay,  overjoyed  perhaps  would  be  a  riper  word,  to  hear 
Kirkpatrick  had  let  it  drop — or  rather,  let  drop  the  girl — 
there  was  'nowt  in  it' — to  use  the  expressive  but  so  unclassical 
words  of  Mr.  Aikrigg" — Brough  smiled  mischievously  as  he 
went  on — "who  seems  to  think  he  has  a  grave  responsibility 
for  placing  Kirkpatrick  in  the  local  harem.  You  must  avoid 
the  delights  of  woman,  but  you  may  flirt.  All  young  men — 
decent  young  men,  Kirkpatrick — are  like  that."  He  regarded 
Kirk's  set  face. 

".  .  .  You  think  me  coarse  ?  But  even  I  once  fell  in  love ; 
right  deep  in  love  with  a  little  dainty-seeming  girl,  offering 
her  my  heart,  my  hand,  the  choiring  of  my  soul,  and  my 
ancestral  debts.  I  was  accepted  and  bethought  me  of  the 
wedding,  when  I  found  the  little  darling  had  mothered  two 
children  by  the  local  constable  on  nightly  beat.  .  .  ." 

"I'm  engaged  to  be  married,  Brough,  to  a  pure  girl." 

"No  .  .  .  you  don't  mean  that  ?  The  devil-in-hell !  What 
a  fool  .  .  ."  Brough  abruptly  turned  his  back  on  Kirk, 
crossed  his  knees  violently  and  threw  his  arm  over  the  back 
of  the  seat. 


350  THE   BORN   FOOL 

He  meant  what  a  fool  he  himself  had  been  not  to  have 
obeyed  the  old  man  at  once  and  personally  looked  after  Kirk. 
But  Kirk  had  flushed  darkly.  A  new  sense  of  masculinity 
filled  him.  He  seemed  suddenly  to  be  years  older.  He 
touched  Brough,  and  said — 

"My  private  affairs  are  my  own,  and  will  not  affect  the 
work." 

"Well,  well,  well,  well,"  murmured  Brough,  without  look- 
ing at  him,  or  moving. 

He  was  profoundly  annoyed  by  a  sense  of  utter  disillusion, 
vexation,  and  unsettlement,  and  grieved  by  his  own  part  in 
the  matter.  He  stood  up.  He  did  not  look  at  Kirk,  but 
said, 

"Do  you  want  to  see  the  rest  of  this  grease-paint?  Or 
shall  we  go  and  have  a  drink  ?  I  feel  .  .  .  that  I  want  moral 
support  of  some  kind.  I  shall  not  longer  be  able  to  lean  upon 
Kirkpatrick.  ...  I  feel  grieved,  Clinton." 

He  asked  no  further  questions.  Increase  of  salary  would, 
thought  he,  assuredly  be  stopped  if  news  of  this  foolish  en- 
gagement came  to  old  Mr.  Bendigo.  Aikrigg,  he  recollected, 
was  supplying  stone  by  rail  to  Whitdale. 

"The  news  will  come  to  old  man  Bendigo  through  beauti- 
ful bountiful  Charlie,"  was  Brough's  next  angry  and  sar- 
castic thought.  But  he  himself  would  tell  no  one.  He  felt 
strongly  that  he  had  done  very  ill  in  the  matter,  and  from 
his  own  judgment  of  Kirk  it  seemed  that  things  might  run 
a  fatal,  fatal  course. 

Late  that  night  Kirk  wrote  his  first  love-letter,  beginning 
"My  dearest  Marian" — 

He  told  her — "On  no  account  touch  the  floor-scrubbing, 
dear,  for  that  is  my  prerogative — and  I  shall  be  back  in  time. 
Save  yourself  as  much  as  you  possibly  can,  and  do  not  let  the 
others  force  you  to  do  what  you  know,  now,  I  cannot  bear  to 
see  you  doing.  I  have  bought  some  capital  stuff  for  blacking 
grates,  and  shall  paint  them  all  with  it,  and  then  there  will  be 
no  more  of  that  back-aching  black-leading !  I  have  told  Mr. 


THE    BORE"   FOOL  351 

Brough  that  I  am  engaged,  and  I  expect  he  will  tell  Mr. 
Bendigo;  for  though,  of  course,  our  private  affairs  have 
nothing  whatever  to  do  with  my  employers  I  want  them  to 
know;  and  this  afternoon  I  asked  Mr.  Brough  about  a  rise, 
and  he  said  he  would  do  his  best  for  me  with  Mr.  Bendigo, 
so  I  think  it  will  be  granted.  I  must  save  up  now  as  much 
as  I  possibly  can. 

"You  should  receive  this  letter  a  few  hours  before  I  ar- 
rive. I  expect  to  come  by  the  eight-fifteen  but  do  not  on  any 
account  meet  me  as  it  will  be  dark,  and  the  hill  is  so  bad  for 
you  until  you  get  strong  again.  However  odd  or  quiet  I  may 
seem  to  you  at  times,  dear — for  we  have  strange  moods  in  our 
family,  and  I  know  that  I  inherit  these  from  my  father — yet 
ever  believe  me,  dearest  Marian,  your  loving  Kirk." 

Next  morning  Brough  and  Kirk  spent  an  early  hour  at 
the  new  Liverpool  office.  Brough  then  asked  Kirk  to  inspect 
some  heavy  timber  over  at  Birkenhead,  and  they  arranged  to 
meet  later  on  at  Lime  Street  Station.  Brough  would  then  go 
South  and  Kirk  return  to  Bruside. 

They  lunched  at  the  station  and  talked  over  further  details 
of  work;  then  Brough  stood  by  Kirk's  carriage  door  a  few 
minutes,  thinking.  Suddenly  he  said  "Oh!"  and  felt  in  his 
pockets. 

"I'd  forgotten  something,  you  left  this  at  the  office,  I 
opened  it,  Kirkpatrick,  to  find  who  owned  it." 

Kirk  felt  the  tell-tale  blood  rising  and  burning  in  his  face 
and  ears.  "He  must  have  seen  it,  for  some  of  it's  written  on 
the  very  title  page,"  thought  he. 

Brough  had  observed  and  waited  a  moment,  he  changed  his 
position,  and,  looking  Kirk  through  and  through  with  his 
truthful  keen  eyes,  he  said : — 

"Are  you  happy,  quite  happy,  Kirkpatrick  ?" 

Kirk  found  it  not  possible  to  meet  those  eyes  and  tell  a  lie. 
He  looked  away,  clenched  his  teeth,  and  replied  firmly 
through  them, 

"I  am  quite  happy,  thank  you  very  much,  Brough." 


352  THE   BORN    FOOL 

As  the  train  began  to  move,  the  elder  man  took  his  hand 
and  said, 

"Goodbye  .  .  .  And  good  luck.  If  you  are  ever  in  diffi- 
culty, or  want  my  advice  on  your  own  affairs,  come  and  see 
me." 

"Goodbye,"  said  Kirk,  a  mist  in  his  eyes. 

During  this  brief  absence  he  had  wonderfully  rebuilt  his 
precarious  ideals,  for  he  was  one  of  those  with  great  powers 
of  generation,  and  re-generation.  Knowledge  was  but  for 
transmutation.  Experience,  for  exaltation.  Feelings  and 
emotions  were  in  him  as  potent,  fixed,  and  strong,  as  the 
power  pent  in  deep  and  dammed  up  water.  To  this  source  of 
his  character  Brough  had  penetrated.  He  had  noted  that 
Kirk  always  preferred  "I  feel"  to  "I  think"  .  .  .  and  on  this 
night  it  recurred  to  Brough,  and  he  murmured  to  himself, 
"and  yet  he  can  think,  he  can  think,  so  widely  and  acutely !" 

In  the  hall  Kirk  of  his  own  desire  kissed  Marian.  And 
then  she,  smiling,  and  her  eyes  still  love-lit,  held  out  to  him 
a  letter  bearing  the  black  crest  of  Mrs.  Athorpe.  They  went 
into  the  front  parlour,  where  they  were  alone. 

Kirk  opened  and  read  the  letter  while  Marian  watched  his 
changing  face. 

"MY  DEAREST  KlBKPATRICK, 

"I  received  your  letter  but  could  not  pass  it  as  usual  to  Eleanor. 
I  cannot  rejoice  with  you,  for  it  is  very  foolish,  greatly  foolish 
of  you,  to  become  engaged  or  think  of  marriage  at  your  age,  nor 
do  I  understand  why  the  people  of  the  young  girl  you  mention 
should  have  allowed  her  to  become  engaged  to  you;  for  your  salary 
must  be  very  small.  It  is  but  five  years  since  you  left  Severnly 
School,  and  you  are  not,  I  think,  yet  twenty-two.  I  am  feeling  very 
unwell  and  quite  unable  to  reply  to  your  news,  which  has  given  me 
a  great  shock.  Your  dear  mother  would  deeply  have  disapproved 
such  an  early  engagement,  and  you  tell  me  nothing  of  the  girl  whom 
you  say  you  love.  I  do  indeed  trust  that  she  is  a  lady,  and  is  your 
own  equal.  But  I  had  understood  you  knew  no  nice  people  where 
you  are?  Marriages  beneath  one  always  lead  to  the  extreme  un- 
happiness  of  both  parties. 


•    THE    BOEN   FOOL  353 

"I  have  just  re-read  your  short  note.  I  do  not  understand  what 
you  mean  when  you  say  that  'she  lives  here  with  her  stepmother 
and  sisters.'  You  have  mentioned  no  one  to  me  in  all  your  letters, 
Kirkpatrick;  and  I  cannot  tell  you,  Kirk,  how  much  grieved  I  feel, 
that  you  have  not  confided  in  me.  It  seems  such  a  breach  of  that 
candour  in  you  that  your  mother  loved.  I  cannot  understand  this 
engagement  at  all.  I  have  not  cared  to  tell  my  son  and  his  wife. 
They  will  think  you  are  mad,  and  they  take  so  much  interest  in 
you.  It  is  but  the  other  day  Eleanor  said  to  my  son,  'Kirk  has  only 
to  marry  well,  and  he  will  make  a  name,  and  will  arrive. 

"You  made  a  great  impression  upon  them  when  you  came  here 
from  Cirenhampton,  for  you  were  always  a  clever  boy,  and  my 
darling  Agnes,  your  mother,  hoping  so  much  for  your  future,  once 
said  to  me:  'He  is  my  child  of  many  prayers.' 

"I  am  growing  very  feeble,  and  I  have  few  years  to  live,  and 
I  am  no  longer  able  to  do  as  I  like.  Does  your  father,  and  does 
Mr.  Bendigo  know  of  your  engagement?  They  will  strongly  dis- 
approve. Nor  can  I  approve  of  a  girl  who  becomes  engaged  to  a 
young  fellow  of  only  twenty-two,  only  just  setting  out  on  his 
career  in  life,  and  without  proper  means  for  her  support — for  you 
have  yourself  pointed  out  to  me  how  many  years  must  be  spent  by 
young  engineers  before  they  receive  an  adequate  salary,  and  I  think 
you  have  not  yet  passed  all  your  exams?  I  am  hoping  that  your 
news  is  only  the  result  of  some  boy  and  girl  freak,  and  that  you  will 
soon  be  tired  of  each  other,  and  see  your  extreme  mutual  folly.  I 
am  too  exhausted  to  say  all  I  feel,  and  I  am  writing  this  with  diffi- 
culty, in  bed;  for  your  mother,  had  she  lived,  poor  dear,  would 
herself  have  written  this  to  you. 

"Your  loving  Aunt  Alice." 

As  Kirk  put  this  letter  back  into  its  envelope,  Marian, 
unable  to  control  her  anxiety,  asked  him — 

"What  does  she  say,  Kirk  ?" 

She  put  out  her  hand  for  the  letter,  but  Kirk  gently 
withdrew  it. 

".  .  .  She  thinks  it  unwise  for  us  to  be  engaged,  Marian ; 
she  does  not  see  it  as  we  do.  I  knew  she  would  say  these 
things." 

"Let  me  see  it,  Kirk." 

"No,  I  can't  possibly  show  it  you.  It  would  only  hurt 
you."  He  tore  it  in  two  in  its  envelope,  dropped  the  frag- 


354  THE   BOKN    FOOL 

merits  in  the  fire,  and  watched  them  burn.  Marian  asked 
him  tremulously, 

"Does  she  .  .  .  does  she  think  I'm  not  good  enough  for 
you?" 

"No,  no,  dear,  she  thinks  we  are  too  young,  that's  all,  but 
she  writes  severely ;  don't  ask  me  what  she  says." 

By  great  effort  he  had  forced  himself  to  reply  soothing- 
ly, but  Mrs.  Athorpe's  words  had  stricken  him  with  their 
truth.  It  was  his  first  clear  vision  of  the  world's  view  of  his 
position,  and  in  his  breast  as  he  saw  the  girl's  deep  emotion 
he  was  overcome  by  fear — the  same  terrible  fear  of  not  being 
able  to  love  her,  of  deceiving  her,  of  breaking  her  heart. 

Quite  wordless  and  gone  pale,  Marian  turned  and  hid  her 
face  on  Kirk's  shoulder. 

He  instantly  put  his  arms  round  her,  strongly  and  pity- 
ingly. His  feelings  were  roused.  Great  pity  had  replaced 
love.  "Never  mind,  Marian  dear,  never  mind,  dear.  Don't 
fear  anything.  I  don't  want  any  relations  or  friendships. 
You'll  always  have  me,  dear,  for  yourself.  I'll  always  take 
care  of  you.  You  know  I  love  you,  and  will  always  love  you." 
To  the  intellectual  half  of  himself  he  said  sternly,  "I  defy  you 
to  stop  me  loving  her!" 

"Oh,  Kirk !"  said  she,  raising  a  disfigured  and  tearstained 
face,  "I  felt  something  go  through  me  when  you  were  reading 
that  letter." 

"Never  mind,  dear,"  manfully  said  Kirk,  holding  her 
firmer,  smiling,  and  as  it  were  hurling  himself  into  the 
breach  with  a  grim  humour — "You  can  feel  something  going 
round  you  now !  can't  you,  dear  ?"  and  he  held  her  close  round 
her  supple  waist.  The  girl  smiled  through  her  tears. 

Afterwards  for  some  time  he  sat  in  a  low  chair  while 
Marian  kneeled  beside  him  with  her  head  and  arms  on  his 
knees.  Well  content  was  she  to  be  resting  on  the  body  of 
the  man  she  loved,  and  she  was  quite  unconscious  that  he  sat 
there  rigidly,  that  he  looked  out  from  his  fixed  and  strained 
eyes,  and  again  fought  with  himself. 


CHAPTER  XLV 

KIRK  saw  much  more  of  Marian  while  she  remained  at 
home.  He  passed  agitating  days.  By  powerful  mental 
and  emotional  effort  he  defied  the  effect  of  that  selfishness  he 
detected  in  her.  Each  day  with  relief  he  closed  behind  him 
the  house  door  when  he  set  off  for  the  works.  He  had  by 
power  of  strong  will  regained  something  of  his  idealism  and 
love  of  Marian ;  yet  the  fear  of  a  second  loss  haunted  him 
like  a  terrible  spectre,  always  present,  too  fearful  to  look  on, 
yet  just  behind  him,  and  he  dared  not  to  look  behind.  He 
threw  himself  into  his  work  by  main  force,  for  though  he  felt 
too  distraught  to  enter  into  worldly  things,  yet  if  he  did  not 
— then  his  fear  and  sorrow  pressed  round  him  and  crushed 
him  so  that  he  could  scarcely  breathe.  To  the  close  observer 
he  looked  thinner,  his  eyes  were  shrunk  and  too  bright,  and 
his  whole  manner  showed  extreme  mental  and  emotional  ten- 
sion. He  started  violently  when  a  moorland  sheep  came 
suddenly  out  of  a  roadside  lane.  While  returning  each  even- 
ing to  the  house,  he  spent  the  upward  walk  schooling  his 
feelings,  forcing  upon  himself  a  false  calm  and  state  of 
brightness;  for  on  his  arrival  he  must  greet  and  kiss  poor 
Marian.  He  retired  to  bed  each  night  with  intense  relief, 
deeply  thankful  for  solitude  and  that  he  found  it  easy  to 
please  her.  He  fell  at  times  into  the  heavy  sleep  of  exhaus- 
tion; but  always  his  awakening  was  distressful.  Generous 
pity  and  solicitude  for  Marian,  his  promise  and  his  honour, 
kept  him  to  the  path  he  trod. 

About  three  weeks  after  the  day  of  engagement,  he  came 
in  for  breakfast  and  found  on  his  plate  a  private  letter  from 
Mr.  Bendigo.  He  opened  it  with  misgiving  and  was  glad 
that  Marian  had  gone  on  some  small  errand.  His  foreboding 

355 


356  THE    BORN    FOOL 

returned  tenfold  when  he  read  the  letter,  for  Kirk's  sensi- 
tive nature  was  impressionable  as  that  of  many  a  young  girl. 

"Surrey. 
"DEAR  CLINTON, 

"I  have  heard  with  considerable  surprise  that  yon  are  engaged 
to  be  married.  I  feel  a  certain  amount  of  responsibility  for  young 
engineers  under  my  employ.  It  is  very  easy  for  a  young  man  to 
be  led  into  an  unfortunate  entanglement,  but  I  trust  if  what  I  men- 
tion is  true,  that  you  have  at  least  consulted  your  father  in  the 
matter.  I  am  assured  that  he  would  agree  with  me,  that  it  would 
be  most  injudicious  of  a  young  fellow  in  your  position  to  think  of 
marrying.  I  write  to  you,  also,  as  being  privileged  by  my  old  ac- 
quaintance with  your  father.  I  will  mention  that  he  wrote  me 
privately  about  you  at  the  time  I  took  you  into  my  service.  I  will 
say  further  that  you  have  served  me  satisfactorily  and  caused  me 
to  take  a  personal  interest  in  your  welfare. 

"The  question  of  your  salary  has  recently  been  brought  favourably 
to  my  notice  by  Mr.  Brough,  but,  you  will  please  understand  clearly, 
that  should  the  news  of  your  engagement  prove  true,  I  would  not 
feel  justified  either  to  your  father  or  to  yourself,  in  placing  a 
premium  on  any  foolish  desires  you  may  at  present  entertain,  and 
which  would  prove  inimical  both  to  your  career,  and  to  your  present 
work. 

"I  shall  await  your  reply  by  return  of  post. 

"Yours  truly, 

"JAMES  BENDIGO." 

He  sat  with  the  letter  in  his  hand,  feeling  unable  to  eat 
the  food  placed  before  him  by  Mrs.  Gisburn;  twice,  for 
appearance,  he  drank  a  little  coffee,  and  then  forced  him- 
self to  begin  eating — for  he  felt  Mrs.  Gisburn's  eyes  were 
upon  him,  and  that  she  was  anxious,  and  he  felt  suspicion 
that  she  divined  his  state  of  mind. 

Truly  she  had  to  some  extent  discovered  him,  and  also  the 
contents  of  the  letter.  It  was  the  first  from  his  employer 
which  had  come  bearing  the  word  "private" — and  it  was 
not  addressed  in  the  usual  formal  type-writing.  Over  an 
hour  since  she  had  turned  it  over  and  perceived  in  it  some- 
thing unusual ;  she  thought  it  must  contain  orders  to  send 


THE   BORN   FOOL  357 

him  to  those  other  works — but  as  she  watched  his  face  she 
saw  the  letter  contained  graver  matter,  and  her  slow  imagina- 
tion led  her  to  a  dim  but  truthful  perception.  The  cause  of 
the  shock,  too  imperfectly  concealed  by  Kirk,  was  guessed  by 
her. 

Sh  i  sat  down  and  began  to  sew,  then  she  put  her  hands  in 
her  lap  and  said  slowly, 

"Mr.  Clinton,  ye  mussn't  let  them  dead  feelings  cc  :ne  to 
ye. — Ye  must  either  be  a  man,  or  a  mouse,  now." 

Kirk  held  his  breath  a  moment — then  spoke  to  her  calmly. 

'^Whatever  I  feel,  you  need  have  no  fear — of  what  I  think, 
Mrs.  Gisburn.  What  I  do,  will  be  all  right." 

He  took  the  morning  paper,  propped  it  up  as  though  to 
read,  looked  at  it  steadily,  and  ate  a  little  food. 

But  he  dare  not  wait  for  Marian,  for  he  was  so  overcharged 
that  he  felt  he  must  immediately  be  by  himself. 

It  was  the  Queen's  birthday  and  Mr.  Bendigo  always  had 
the  day  observed  on  all  his  works.  Kirk  had  forgotten  this 
fact  and  now  he  was  thankful  for  it.  He  passed  the  single 
watchman  at  the  gates  and  went  on  to  the  deserted  private 
office,  which  he  unlocked  and  entered.  Of  habit  he  opened 
a  window  and  sat  down.  To  his  strange  emotional  trouble 
from  which  he  had  so  vainly  sought  desperate  escape — but 
found  himself  at  every  turn  fatally  barred  in  by  his  honour 
and  by  the  unbearable  agony  of  hurting  Marian — to  this  was 
now  added  a  bitter  sense  of  hurt — it  was  clear  that  all  his 
hard  work  was  to  go  unrewarded.  He  had  been  unaware  how 
keenly  he  had  built  up  hopes  on  the  increase  of  salary.  It 
was  bitter  to  know  that  he  had  fallen  in  the  esteem  of  his 
superiors,  and  he  saw  money  difficulties  ahead,  and  that  he 
must  seek  a  fresh  appointment — very  likely  without  a  testi- 
monial from  Mr.  Bendigo.  He  remembered  the  innumer- 
able efforts  and  disappointment  after  disappointment  before 
he  had  escaped  from  home.  At  this  moment  his  sick  condi- 
tion of  mind  recoiled  despairingly  from  these  prospective 


358  THE    BORN    FOOL 

efforts;  a  grievous  deathly  nausea  against  the  human  life 
now  for  the  first  time  in  his  own  life  overcame  him.  No 
longer  could  he  endure  his  conditions.  He  would  take  flight. 
He  had  fought  and  fought  bravely  and  now  he  had  lost.  He 
would  flee  to  some  far  country,  where  no  one  knew  him 
and  no  one  would  ever  again  hear  of  him. 

He  stood  up  and  went  feverishly  to  the  safe,  to  take  out 
the  little  hoard  he  had  begun  to  save  up  for  the  wedding — 
the  wedding  that  he  now  saw  had  never  been  destined  to  take 
place.  By  the  small  bag  of  money  lay  his  loaded  revolver. 

"It  is  better  for  you,  poor  girl,  oh  far  better;  I  am  not 
what  you  imagine,  I  am  only  a  wretched  man  who  has  no 
heart,  who  is  one  of  those  horrible  fickle  ones  whom  you  will 
hate.  You  will  soon  forget  my  treacherous  face." 

Through  the  open  window  suddenly  began  to  pour  in  the 
rapturous  song  of  an  ascending  lark,  trilling  and  trilling,  like 
its  own  glad  little  heart,  in  the  joyous  May  sunshine ;  but  it 
pierced  Kirk's  heart  like  an  exceedingly  sharp  knife.  He 
made  an  inarticulate  noise.  Instead  of  the  money  his  hand 
clenched  the  revolver,  he  lifted  it  quickly,  cocked  it  at  the 
full,  dropped  into  a  chair,  put  the  cold  muzzle  to  his  full 
temple  and  pressed  his  finger  on  the  trigger — harder — harder 
— as  hard  as  he  could — 

Then  with  anger  and  shock  he  brought  the  weapon  before 
his  eyes.  He  stood  up  and  pointed  it  through  the  window 
and  pulled  hard,  but  no  explosion  followed.  He  then  saw 
the  unobtrusive  safety-lever  had  been  drawn  over,  un- 
noticed. He  drew  it  back  and  at  this  moment  the  lark's 
song,  heard  of  him  but  subconsciously — ceased  as  suddenly 
as  it  commenced.  It  caused  a  relief  to  the  great  pressure  of 
his  grief.  He  sat  down  again  and  put  the  muzzle  to  his  tem- 
ple, but  he  did  not  pull  the  trigger.  He  dropped  the  weapon 
in  his  lap,  thinking,  "I  am  a  damned  coward  as  well  rs  a 
cad,"  and  instead  of  the  desire  of  death  came  a  fearful 
weakness — to  tell  Marian  everything,  to  ask  her  to  forgive 
him,  to  tell  him  what  he  was  to  do. 


THE    BORN    FOOL  359 

He  went  back  up  the  hill  and  found  Marian  down  on  her 
"knees  scrubbing  the  oilcloth  floors.  Upstairs  Mrs.  Gisburn 
made  a  great  noise  with  the  furniture.  The  moment  he  saw 
Marian  he  knew  his  ideas  were  impossible.  He  stepped  over 
her  feet,  protesting,  his  hand  on  the  roundness  of  her  bodice. 

"Oh,  Marian,  dear!  You  know  so  well  you  mustn't  do 
this !  You  know  what  Dr.  Rennie  said.  And  you  promised 
me  you  wouldn't." 

He  took  her  wet  hands  and  raised  her  to  her  feet.  He  was 
filled  with  a  sense  of  himself  re-conquered.  Here  in  this  life 
he  could  and  would  tenderly  help  her.  He  was  of  no  slightest 
value  himself,  but  she  was  precious,  and  her  heart  was  loyal 
and  loving.  His  own  was  too  worthless  to  be  further  con- 
sidered. He  kissed  her  and  she  smiled  radiantly  as  she  ex- 
claimed : 

"Oh,  Kirk !  I'm  all  wet !  I  didn't  want  you  to  catch  me ! 
and  mother  can't  bear  seeing  you  do  it,  she  goes  on  ever  so 
when  you're  not  here.  Do  let  me  do  it,  Kirk,"  said  she,  try- 
ing to  draw  away — "I  feel  ever  so  well  to-day." 

"No,  I  shan't.  You  must  obey  me  now,  and  not  your 
mother.  It  hurts  me  awfully  to  see  you  down  on  your  knees, 
and  your  poor  back  so  weak." 

He  untied  her  apron  and  threw  it  on  the  sofa. 

She  obeyed  him  and  locked  the  front  and  back  doors.  "When 
he  saw  her  sitting  down  and  peeling  potatoes — the  apron  re- 
adjusted— he  was  satisfied,  and  fell-to  vigorously  on  his  knees 
while  Marian  watched  critically  through  the  kitchen  door. 
After  a  few  minutes  she  came  and  stood  over  him.  He  looked 
up  at  her  and  she  stooped  and  took  his  hand  and  kissed  the 
little  curls  of  hair  she  loved,  and  then  repeated  the  kiss  on 
one  of  his  small  ears. 

"Eh,  I've  never  heard  of  one  like  you,  Kirk!  you  do 
housework  better  than  a  woman!  you  are  a  dear,  Kirk." 

Kirk  laughed  nervously,  she  could  not  see  his  eyes. 

"You  go  back  to  your  work,  Miss,  or  we  shall  have  the  old 
lady  making  a  fuss." 


360  THE    BOKN    FOOL 

Kirk — while  he  scrubbed — remembered  his  mother  taking 
him  to  see  a  young  widow  lady  and  her  two  boys  of  about  his 
own  age  or  a  little  older.  Afterwards  his  mother  had  said 
to  him, 

"They  are  very  poor  indeed,  Kirk,  so  poor  that  they  can- 
not afford  even  one  servant,  and  those  two  dear  boys,  of 
their  own  accord,  do  all  the  heavier  housework,  to  save  their 
mother.  That  is  true  chivalry,  Kirk." 

In  the  sunny  afternoon  Marian  proposed  they  should  go 
for  a  walk,  so  Kirk  threw  a  cloak  over  his  arm  and  they 
walked  slowly  up  the  main  road  of  Bruside. 

Marian  had  put  her  arm  in  his  and  was  deeply  enjoying 
herself,  very  much  aware  of  what  Kirk  did  not  see — the 
numerous  folk  peeping  at  them  through  the  sickly  geraniums 
and  window  flowers. 

They  turned  off  and  went  down  hill  by  a  quiet  path  that 
led  them  among  the  small  green  pasture-fields;  here  they 
were  well  hidden  by  the  high  stone  walls,  and  by  a  scattered 
little  wood  or  shaw.  Daisies  were  fully  out,  golden  dande- 
lion petals  sparkled  in  the  new  grass;  under  the  trees  of  the 
little  shaw  showed  a  few  wild  hyacinths.  The  lovers  selected 
a  retired  spot  where  Kirk  spread  the  cloak.  Marian  knelt 
in  a  sitting  position,  and  Kirk  sat  beside  her.  She  took  one 
of  Kirk's  hands  in  both  her  own,  and  held  it  in  her  lap. 

She  looked  pretty;  her  illness  had  thinned  her,  and  she 
seemed  quite  slender  in  her  dark  close-fitting  dress.  A  square 
yoke  of  thin  white  material  showed  on  the  bosom;  this  was 
very  becoming  and  gave  Marian  a  look  of  youth  and  maiden- 
liness. 

"Tell  me  about  when  you  were  a  boy,  Kirk,"  said  she, 
looking  away  over  the  hollow  of  the  valley,  to  the  great  spread 
of  brown  sunlit  moorland  that  rose  up  beyond  them. 

So,  sitting  touching  each  other,  he  began  to  tell  her  of  his 
strange  ecstacies  in  the  woods,  and  how  a  wild  flower  had 
caused  him  tears  one  day,  at  Cirenhampton ;  then  he  told  her 
a  little  of  the  day  at  Junipen,  and  he  described  that  dear 


THE    BORN    FOOL  361 

southern  land  to  her.  He  told  her  of  the  sorrowful  strange 
feelings  he  had,  when  he  had  heard  the  youthful  girls'  silvery 
laughter  floating  far  up  to  him  from  the  lawn  of  the  old 
farm-manor,  two  years  ago,  and  as  he  told  her  this  he  sud- 
denly for  the  first  time  connected  that  prophetic  feeling  with 
his  present-day.  "It  was  a  premonition,"  thought  he,  and 
fell  silent,  and  the  horrible  weakness  to  make  confession,  to 
tell  Marian,  to  unburden  himself,  even  to  be  himself  comfort- 
ed, to  put  his  own  head  on  her  bosom,  began  a  second  time 
to  overcome  him.  The  struggle  was  so  great  that  he  trembled 
and  shivered. 

Marian  glanced  at  him  and  was  alarmed. 

"Oh,  Kirk!    You're  ill?" 

His  face  was  working,  and  he  was  looking  down,  clenching 
the  grass  with  his  free  hand. 

"Oh,  Kirk!  oh,  Kirk,  dear  .  .  .  why  are  you  so  dread- 
fully sad?" 

He  could  not  reply. 

Then  with  a  piteous  voice  and  look  averted  she  whispered 
to  herself, 

"Ah  .  .  .  don't  you  want  to  marry  me,  Kirk  ?  Kirk,  you 
must  never  marry  me,  if  you  don't  love  me." 

She  loosed  his  hand,  turned  away,  and  began  to  sob,  cov- 
ering her  face  and  drooping  her  head,  kneeling  in  a  crouch- 
ing attitude. 

Then  was  he  utterly  revolted  by  what  he  thought  his  cow- 
ardice. 

"Don't,  dear !  oh,  don't,  dearest !  don't  cry,  I  can't  bear  it, 
Marian,  don't  cry.  Oh,  you  are  so  mistaken — "  he  was 
kneeling  and  had  hastily  drawn  her  to  him,  and  clasped  her 
very  tenderly. 

"There,  dear  .  .  .  there  .  .  .  there,  dear  .  .  ." 

Oh,  how  sweet  and  humble  she  was  in  this  distress,  and  he 
was  overwhelmed  with  desire  to  comfort  her.  She  leaned 
passively  against  him  and  drank  in  his  passionate  words. 

"Don't  cry,  dear,  don't  ever  be  troubled  again,     I  don't 


362  THE    BORN    FOOL 

know  what  made  me  so  sad.  .  .  I'm  subject  to  these  strange 
moods.  I  told  you  that  I  was.  I  told  you  of  the  flower  at 
Cirenhampton  .  .  .  that  it  made  me  cry  ...  to  explain  to 
you  ...  I  cannot  help  myself — my  strange  moods — but 
be  assured,  ever,  dear,  that  I  love  you,  that  I  am  yours  only, 
and  never  doubt  me  again;  I  shall  never  love  any  one  else 
but  you."  "This,"  thought  he,  "is  indeed  true." 

She  gradually  ceased  crying,  and  after  a  few  minutes 
spoke  to  him  tremulously. 

"I — I  didn't  know,  Kirk,  dear,  why  I  said  that.  Some- 
thing came  over  me,  so  sad,  so  dreadful,  and  then  your  voice, 
and  when  I  saw  your  eyes " 

Kirk  soothed  her  and  gently  pressed  her  head  against 
his  shoulder. 

Marian  began  wiping  her  wet  cheeks,  then  she  smiled — 
"Kirk,  I  think  you  and  me  are  both  a  bit  queer  sometimes — • 
we're  not  like  others — like  other  folks — but  we've  got  each 
other,  dear,  always — but  sometimes  I  feel  something  so  dark 
come  round  me,  as  if  I  had  nothing  left,  and  then  I  feel  such 
a  dreadful  sadness  I  could  kill  meself — it  frightens  me  .  .  . 
but  I've  got  you,  dear,  now  .  .  .  I'll  never  think  like  that 
again." 

She  leaned  back  on  him  and  looked  up  in  his  eyes  so  that 
willingly  he  bent  his  head  and  kissed  her  anew. 

They  walked  back  arm-in-arm  through  the  village,  and 
Kirk  helped  Marian  to  prepare  tea.  Afterwards  he  proposed 
secretly  to  her  to  take  train  to  Hepthwaite  and  there  buy  the 
engagement  ring.  Marian  smiled  and  flushed,  and  went 
upstairs  quickly  to  put  on  her  coat  and  hat. 

As  they  descended  to  the  valley  she  quickened  her  steps 
and  danced  a  little  on  his  arm,  exclaiming, 

"Oh,  Kirk!  I  feel  so  well!  don't  let's  go  by  train!  let's 
walk  there !  it's  ever  so  nice  along  the  river ;  we  can  sit  down 
if  I  get  tired." 

Several  people  on  the  main  road  met  them  and  smiled 


THE   BORN   FOOL  363 

meaningly.  Marian  smiled  back  proudly;  she  had  taken 
Kirk's  arm  immediately  they  left  the  house. 

The  path  they  followed  was  of  black  cinders,  and  went 
beside  the  river,  through  the  single  breadth  of  flat  meadow 
that  formed  the  narrow  valley-floor.  Here  the  river  was  bor- 
dered by  ragged  hawthorns  in  full  new  leaf,  still  unsullied 
by  the  smoke.  Above  the  reach  of  covetous  hands  were  a  few 
sprays  of  delicious  blossoms ;  and  the  newly  broken  twigs  be- 
low them  showed  how  appreciated  were  these  rarities.  Be- 
tween these  bushes  on  the  river-side  was  seen  the  pink  sunset, 
reflected  from  the  pools  of  still  water  among  the  rocks  and 
boulders  of  the  broad  channel. 

Kirk  knew  the  water  was  polluted ;  but  the  slight  evening 
wind  blew  away  the  smell  from  the  lovers.  The  greasy 
boulders  were  mostly  hidden  by  huge  green  leaves  of  wild  rhu- 
barb; the  tall  and  curious  pink  flowers  of  this  plant  rose 
in  spires  above  the  sky-reflecting  water.  The  mills  were  si- 
lent, the  dark  green  hills  were  coloured  by  the  sunset,  and  in 
the  unusual  stillness  sounded  faintly  the  traffic  on  the  setted 
roads,  the  distant  shouts  of  children,  and  from  some  farm 
high  upon  the  moors  one  could  hear  the  far-away  barking  of  a 
sheep-dog. 

There  were  other  lovers  arm-in-arm  on  this  path  and 
Marian  was  acquainted  with  nearly  every  one  of  them.  Kirk 
did  not  observe  the  young  men,  but  he  noticed  that  Marian 
and  the  girls  exchanged  warm  glances.  It  was  that  secret 
eternal  triumph  of  women  over  men — and  of  which  women 
are  always  aware.  One  or  two  pairs  stopped  and  wished 
them  happiness,  displaying  a  shyness  in  the  presence  of 
Marian's  well-dressed  and  austere  young  stranger. 

"Why,  if  that  isn't  Edward  Garside  coming!"  said  Marian, 
a  little  fluttered. 

Kirk  was  aware  that  this  now  wealthy  brickmaker  had 
once  been  refused  by  Marian. 

Garside  was  a  man  of  about  thirty-five,  and  was  ill-dressed 
in  new  clothes,  but  he  bore  himself  like  a  master.  He  knew 


364  THE    BORN    FOOL 

Kirk  a  little,  for  he  had  supplied  certain  special  bricks  for  the 
works. 

He  approached  them  down  the  middle  of  the  path  and  they 
mutually  stopped  as  they  met.  Mr.  Garside  looked  at  Marian 
and  smiled  frankly  and  a  little  sadly.  He  made  no  greeting, 
but  said  in  a  sincere,  quiet,  and  deliberate  manner, 

"Well,  Mesther  Clinton.  Ar  always  said  thee  was  a 
straight  'un;  and  tha's  getten  a  good  lass;  and  o'  good 
parents — for  ther  wur  m'feyther's  friends.  Ov  known  Marian 
sen  her  wur  a  little  gurl  ...  I  wish  thee  both  joy  and  mooch 
happiness!"  He  shook  Kirk's  hands  and  then  Marian's.  He 
put  his  hand  to  his  cap  in  reply  to  Kirk's  salute,  and  went 
on  deliberately. 

All  these  congratulations  were  a  strengthening  and  con- 
firming of  Kirk  in  his  set  purpose. 

At  the  jeweller's  unpretentious  shop  Marian  took  much 
time  to  select  a  ring.  Kirk  chose  her  one  containing  a  single 
clear,  starlike  diamond.  This  ring  looked  good  and  the  de- 
sign was  chaste.  But  Marian  preferred  one  more  ornate,  a 
thin  ring,  with  five  little  diamonds  held  very  lightly  in  open 
setting. 

"Besides,  Kirk,"  whispered  she  to  him — "it's  ten  shillings 
lees  than  the  other,  and  it  fits  me,  and  the  other  seems  just 
a  bit  too  small." 

"All  right,  dear,  I  want  you  to  choose  what  you  like  best, 
inside  our  small  limit." 

"It's  you  must  put  it  on,  Kirk,"  said  she. 

Kirk  and  the  young  jeweller  smiled  and  Kirk  slid  the 
chosen  ring  on  her  short  finger. 

On  the  way  to  the  station  Marian  with  some  little  diffi- 
culty drew  on  her  suede  glove  and  Kirk  observed  this. 

"It  does  stick  up  well,  Kirk,  doesn't  it  ?  I  think  it's  just 
lovely !  just  what  I've  always  wanted !" 

In  the  train  she  fingered  the  little  ridge  made  on  her  glove 
by  the  hidden  ring.  They  both  laughed,  Kirk  chaffingly,  but 


THE    BORN    FOOL  365 

he  delighted  in  giving  presents  and  was  so  glad  Marian  was 
well  pleased. 

She  took  his  hand  and  looked  so  happy  and  relieved  that 
he  experienced  a  joy  he  thought  was  love  returned  to  him, 
but  which  really  came  from  the  satisfaction  of  his  conscience 
and  peculiar  sense  of  honour,  and,  in  a  lesser  degree,  from 
that  innate  pleasure  that  all  young  men  share  in  the  first 
possession  and  protection  of  a  young  and  physically  attractive 
woman. 

Just  before  they  neared  the  house-door  Marian  stopped  in 
the  darkness  to  pull  off  her  resisting  glove. 

"Kirk !  Let's  see  how  soon  they  notice  it !" 

Dinah  saw  it  first. 

"Eee !    She's  got  her  engagement  ring !" 

But  dismay  fell  on  Marian  for  she  saw  a  diamond  was 
gone!  Dinah  and  Marian — north-country  and  supersti- 
tious,— instantly  thought  this  a  bad  omen,  but  did  not  say 
so.  Much  depressed,  Marian  hastily  followed  Jim,  and  Kirk, 
who  carried  a  lantern,  and  they  all  three  searched  about  the 
spot  in  the  road  where  she  had  pulled  off  her  glove,  but  after 
repeated  search  they  found  nothing.  As  they  re-entered  the 
house  they  met  Ruth  coming  out — 

"It's  all  right!    Marian!  I've  found  it  in  the  glove!" 

" .  .  .1  won't  have  it  now — I'll  get  it  changed — Oh,  Kirk, 
I  do  wish  I'd  had  the  one  you  chose  me!  It's  ever  so  un- 
lucky." 

But  Kirk  laughed  at  them  all  and  re-assured  Marian. 

"I'm  quite  glad  really — a  good  thing  it  has  come  out  at 
once,  so  we  can  easily  change  the  ring.  I  thought  it  looked 
too  fragile ;  and  the  diamonds  are  not  nearly  so  sparkling  as 
the  single  good  one.  We'll  go  over  again  to-morrow  evening, 
dear." 


CHAPTER  XL VI 

MR.  WILKINSON  thought  very  ill  of  Clinton's  en- 
gagement but  he  did  not  speak  of  it.  Kirk  soon 
mentioned  that  Mr.  Bendigo  had  refused  him  an  increase 
of  salary,  and  that  he  intended  to  leave  the  old  man's  service 
so  soon  as  he  could  secure  a  better-paid  appointment.  He 
asked  Wilkinson  to  tell  him  of  any  berth  that  came  to  his 
knowledge.  It  flashed  through  the  older  man's  mind  that  if 
Kirk  left  Bruside  he  would  soon  see  his  folly,  and  would 
take  advantage  of  the  separation  to  break  off  the  engagement ; 
but  he  also  thought  it  would  be  very  unwise,  and  unfortunate, 
for  him  to  leave  hastily  employers  who  thought  so  well  of 
him.  It  seemed  a  bad  business  for  Kirk  to  leave  a  big  firm 
in  which  Wilkinson  judged  Kirk  had  good  prospects. 

But  meanwhile  Mr.  Bendigo  took  his  own  action,  and 
Kirk  early  in  June  received  a  letter  telling  him  that  Charlie 
Bendigo  would  shortly  arrive  at  Bruside.  He  would  take 
charge  of  the  works,  but  under  Kirk's  supervision.  After 
instructing  Charlie,  Kirk  was  to  go  and  live  at  Chunaldale 
in  Hillshire,  where  a  contract  for  new  waterworks  had  been 
secured.  He  was  to  return  every  fortnight  for  two  days  or 
so,  to  see  that  Bruside  progressed  satisfactorily.  If  any- 
thing urgent  arose  at  Bruside,  then  the  nephew  would  tele- 
graph for  Kirk.  The  old  man  finished  his  long  letter  with 
these  words :  "I  think  you  should  be  quite  able  to  make  these 
arrangements  work  well." 

Chunaldale  is  the  most  southern  outlier  of  the  cotton 
towns,  and  is  forty  miles  south-west  from  Bruside.  The 
town,  a  rather  large  one,  is  built  in  the  tumbled  trough  where 
several  deep  valleys  join  together,  on  the  most  northern  edge 

366 


THE    BORX   FOOL  367 

of  Hillshire,  and  where  the  highest  region  of  the  Pennine 
Range  adjoins  the  manufacturing  purlieus  of  Lancashire  and 
Yorkshire.  Chunaldale  contains  some  large  but  out-of-date 
spinning-mills  and  a  few  chemical  dye-works,  and  is  a  rather 
old,  squalid,  decayed-looking  town.  Gritstone  yellow  and 
black  gives  the  colour  of  the  walls,  and  the  roofs  are  of  thin 
grey  and  dirty-yellow  slabs  of  stone.  But  within  a  mile  of 
all  this  the  bracken-covered  solitudes  and  the  high  valleys  rise 
up  to  wild  and  beauteous  moors,  that  undulate  two  thousand 
feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea. 

In  early  days  before  steam  came  in  the  abundant  water 
power  at  Chunaldale  attracted  spinners,  and  there  are  still, 
to-day,  many  little  ruined,  mossy,  ivy-grown  mills,  se- 
questered here  and  there  in  those  steep  tree-filled  ravines  that 
radiate  southwards  and  upwards  from  the  big  Chunal  Dale. 
Cut  on  those  deserted  little  mills  one  can  find  among  the  ivy 
dates  that  go  back  to  1790. 

Kirk  took  rooms  let  by  a  gaunt  old  maid,  who  had  seen 
better  times.  Very  many  years  before,  she  had  been  gov- 
erness to  a  wealthy  family  and  had  been  well  treated.  But 
the  children  growing  up  had  gone  to  school,  and  then  Miss 
Grayley  had  secured  less  and  less  remunerative  posts.  She 
had  passed  through  painful  years  of  poverty  and  discomfort, 
and  at  length  had  become  almost  destitute.  In  this  great 
strait  she  had  at  last  written  to  one  of  those  children,  now 
grown  up.  She  asked  for  a  very  small  loan.  The  excep- 
tion had  taken  place,  and  old  Miss  Grayley  had  been  put 
in  receipt  of  a  small  annuity.  She  returned  to  her  birth- 
place, where  a  friend  or  two  still  remained  to  her,  and  there 
she  took  a  small  house.  This  she  gradually  and  sparsely  fur- 
nished. For  some  years  before  Kirk's  arrival  she  had  in- 
creased her  income  by  letting  rooms  to  a  young  schoolmaster, 
who  boarded  with  her.  He  had  just  left ;  and  in  reply  to  her 
advertisement  Kirk  vacated  the  local  hotel  and  took  rooms 
with  her.  He  could  live  very  cheaply  in  this  way,  and  he 
and  the  old  maid  ate  a  midday  meal  together.  Her  refined 


368  THE    BOKIST    FOOL 

speech  and  manners  gave  pleasure  to  Kirk;  and  after  the 
first  weeks  of  reserve  she  told  him  a  good  deal  of  her  life. 
But  he  told  her  nothing  direct  of  his  own,  and  she  never 
questioned  him. 

Although  somewhat  embittered  Miss  Grayley  preserved 
a  kind  heart  that  oddly  belied  her  severe  face,  her  gaunt  up- 
right carriage,  and  her  occasional  sarcastic  remarks  on  men, 
things,  and  women. 

She  served  Kirk's  breakfast  and  tea  in  the  front  sitting- 
room,  thinking  he  would  prefer  this. 

Kirk  now  saved  every  shilling  that  he  could,  his  object 
being  early  marriage,  for  he  felt  sure  that  Marian  could  not 
much  longer  withstand  mill-life,  and  to  save  her  from  that 
would  make  up — though  but  a  little — for  despicable  in- 
constancy. 

He  was  allowed  second-class  fares  on  railways,  but  he  now 
travelled  third-class  and  saved  the  difference. 

The  separation  from  Marian  was  a  great  relief,  but  had 
quite  an  opposite  outcome  from  that  hoped  for  and  expected 
by  Mr.  Bendigo,  Mr.  Brough,  and  Mr.  Wilkinson.  Constant 
juxtaposition  would  have  been  far  more  dangerous  for 
Marian's  hopes,  for  even  she  would  at  last  have  discovered 
him ;  or,  the  unrelieved  pressure  would  have  grown  to  more 
than  he  could  bear.  Every  three  days  he  wrote  to  Marian 
affectionate  letters  that  he  found  very  much  easier  work  than 
actual  daily  contact  with  the  beloved,  to  whom  he  so  feared  to 
be  unfaithful.  He  signed  himself  "your  loving  Kirk." 

Yet  this  was  a  nightmare-like  period.  His  spectres  of  re- 
morse and  fear  seldom  ceased  to  dog  him.  The  state  of 
great  nervous  strain  continued.  Whole  days  of  agitation  came 
often  and  often,  and  he  suffered  continually  the  longing  to 
make  to  her  a  clean  breast, — and  then,  would  think  he,  she 
could  take  him  if  she  desired.  But  he  knew  that  she  would 
not — he  knew  it  would  break  her  heart, — the  same  as  he  felt 
his  own  already  broken — and  so  he  must  fight  himself  down. 


THE    BOKN    FOOL 

There  was  nothing  else;  and  he  continued  successfully  to 
fight  down  every  natural  wish. 

He  began  at  length  to  suffer  from  real  neurasthenia.  His 
sleep  became  meagre,  very  broken,  and  that  terrible  feeling 
as  though  a  vice  held  the  pit  of  the  stomach  seized  him  for 
days.  His  daily  work  became  a  second  ceaseless  effort  of  the 
will.  He  began  without  reason  to  fear  all  things;  he  pre- 
feared  ordinary  business  interviews  with  quarry-owners,  tim- 
ber merchants,  estate  agents,  with  the  engineers  who  had  de- 
signed the  scheme  he  worked  on,  with  the  cousin  of  the  noble 
local  landowner — all  interviews  that  passed  off  perfectly 
well,  and  in  which  there  was  not  the  least  reason  for  any  fear ; 
they  were  interviews  in  which  he  was  most  successful. 

But  after  business  hours,  then  it  was  that  darkest  depres- 
sion and  desolation  most  frequently  overcame  him,  and  he 
was  driven  out  and  up  into  the  hills  to  sit  by  himself, 
anxious,  unnerved,  hopelessly  depressed  and  desolate.  There 
— in  the  fading  light — with  no  sounds  breaking  the  silence 
but  those  of  falling  water,  the  weird  monotonous  nightjar,  the 
sad  bleating  of  sheep,  the  calling  of  the  distant  moorcock 
gathering  together  for  the  night — there  in  these  lonely  places 
he  would  wrestle  terribly  with  his  intense  grief,  with  his 
enormous  desire  to  flee  away  from  what  appeared  duty  irre- 
vocable. He  longed  unspeakably  to  go  abroad  somewhere, 
without  a  word  to  a  soul,  and  be  free,  and  forget  all  these 
terrible  emotions,  and  be  content  to  know  he  was  a  cad  and  a 
blackguard,  inconstant,  fickle,  selfish,  unable  to  love — un- 
worthy of  all  noble  love.  But  yet,  by  flight,  he  would  escape 
this  acute  stress  of  insincerity  and  this  great  burden  that  he 
so  feared  he  could  not  much  longer  uphold.  In  these  solitary 
places  during  the  increasing  beauty  of  summer,  he  mourned 
terribly  and  alone  over  the  loss  of  all  happiness,  loveliness, 
and  love. 

Between  these  paroxysms  he  would  as  it  were  build  again 
at  his  fallen  ideal  of  Marian,  and  try  to  believe  he  loved  her ; 
and  always  he  had  an  affection  for  her,  a  sincere  and  deep 


370  THE   BORIST   FOOL 

desire  to  help  her  from  her  painful  environment  and  comfort 
her. 

The  Bruside  works  were  now  visited  fortnightly  by  Kirk, 
and  he  arranged  his  visits  to  include  the  weekend. 

Marian  was  again  working  at  the  mill  and  this  gave  Kirk 
some  anxiety,  but  Marian  seemed  altogether  stronger, 
brighter,  and,  what  was  very  grateful  to  Kirk — gentler  and 
more  unselfish  at  home. 

The  summer  passed  into  a  very  cold  and  wet  autumn ;  by 
mid-October  the  high  hills  round  Chunaldale  had  received 
their  first  covering  of  snow,  but  in  the  deep  valley  it  fell  as 
cold  rain  or  wet  sleet.  The  rocky  rivers  grew  full  and  one 
roared  past  the  little  house  in  which  Kirk  lived.  He  could 
always  hear  it  in  the  night  while  he  lay  awake. 

His  professional  work  had  become  so  pressing  and  con' 
tinuous  that  he  could  seldom  rest  on  Sundays.  Urgent  work 
always  arose  to  be  done  while  the  mills  were  stopped,  while 
the  railway  traffic  was  light,  or  it  might  be  some  figures  or 
returns  were  needed  quickly  by  headquarters. 

Kirk  should  have  been  preparing  for  his  final  examina- 
tions in  civil  engineering,  but  he  had  no  strength  of  mind  left 
for  the  effort.  His  ambitions  had  become  very  fitful,  so  that 
now,  when  at  times  he  felt  less  troubled,  and  when  the  day's- 
work  was  over,  he  had  a  form  of  greatly  needed  recreation 
and  oblivion,  in  taking  up  again  his  geological  thesis  on 
Cirenhampton,  .  .  .  marshalling  his  facts,  drawing  his  sec- 
tions, and  himself  preparing  numbers  of  small  drawings  for 
the  text.  Such  things  no  longer  deeply  interested  him,  but 
the  labour  on  them  prevented  other  thought.  To  save  fuel  as 
the  winter  drew  on  and  because  it  seemed  heartless  to  let 
Miss  Grayley  sit  alone  hour  by  hour  in  her  sitting  room, 
he  often  took  his  work  into  her  parlour,  where  he  covered  the 
large  table  with  his  papers  and  books  of  reference,  while  the 
old  maid  sat  and  knitted,  after  late  tea.  Occasionally  they 


THE   BOKN   FOOL  371 

would  speak  to  one  another.  At  times,  paralysed  by  sadness, 
he  would  sit  and  do  nothing,  his  hrow  on  his  hand,  unable 
to  concentrate  his  thoughts. 

In  addition  to  the  true  thirst  for  knowledge  originally 
possessed  by  Kirk,  and  which  as  it  were  still  carried  him  on 
by  its  momentum,  there  was  now  a  second  motive,  and  a 
third  and  sad  motive,  in  this  geological  research.  It  had 
seemed  to  open  a  way  into  a  new  means  of  livelihood.  He 
had  received  much  kindness  and  recognition  from  eminent 
geologists  since  his  first  discoveries  when  he  was  still  a  youth ; 
and  old  Dr.  Cholderton  twice  had  spoken  to  him  of  the 
Geological  Survey.  If  he  could  but  join  that  body  he  would 
for  ever  leave  civil  engineering,  to  work  at  things  he  liked 
and  for  which  he  knew  he  had  talent.  .  .  .  Then,  too,  the 
salaries  to  him  seemed  very  good.  Besides  .  .  .  geological 
survey-work  would  mean  long  periods  of  absence  from 
Marian. 

Before  November  he  found  himself — though  not  by  his 
own  initiative — again  in  weekly  correspondence  with  Pro- 
fessor Kally,  who  read  the  proofs,  improved  the  English  and 
the  style,  criticised,  helped,  and  found  for  him  many  valuable 
references. 

Miss  Grayley  quietly  studied  Kirk  and  all  that  he  did. 
He  told  her  nothing  of  Marian,  and  very  little  of  himself. 
But  she  had  gleaned  some  information  by  putting  twos  and 
twos  together.  She  viewed  with  disappointment  the  letters 
that  Kirk  received  weekly,  addressed  in  a  hand-writing  so 
strikingly  uncouth — "neither  male  nor  female,"  said  she  to 
herself.  But  Miss  Grayley  decided  that  a  girl  wrote  them, 
that  she  was  "sloppy  and  clumsy,"  and  was  no  person  to 
whom  Mr.  Clinton  should  be  writing.  The  postmark  was 
Bruside  where  he  went  once  a  fortnight,  and  she  formed  a 
shrewd  idea  of  the  truth.  As  she  grew  to  like  Kirk  and 
to  look  forward  to  his  coming  home,  she  approached  nearer 
and  nearer  to  a  time  when  she  would  speak  to  him  of  his 
own  affairs  when  some  timely  chance  arose,  for  often  she 


372  THE   BOKN   FOOL 

heard  him  sigh  again  and  again,  and  she  saw  that  some 
great  sorrow  weighed  upon  him. 

Early  in  December  Kirk  had  in  hand  a  trench  over  thirty 
feet  deep,  in  the  bottom  of  which  was  to  be  laid  part  of  the 
main  cast-iron  pipe-line  of  the  waterworks.  To  enter  and 
reach  the  service  reservoir,  this  main  was  being  laid  through 
a  hill,  on  which  were  built  the  outskirts  of  the  town:  and 
through  this  hill,  and  between  the  rather  close-built  houses, 
passed  the  deep  trench. 

Miss  Grayley  asked  Kirk  why  it  was  needful  to  lay  these 
great  pipes  so  very  deep,  and  he  endeavoured  to  explain  to 
her  that  it  was  unfortunately  essential,  in  order  to  avoid 
"rising  above  the  hydraulic  mean  gradient;  otherwise,  Miss 
Grayley," — said  he — "the  water  would  refuse  to  flow  through 
them  to  the  service  reservoir  and  thus  to  the  town." 

When  the  trench  had  been  sunk  two-thirds  of  its  depth, 
•under  the  supervision  of  a  not  too  competent  ganger — he  was 
an  Irishman — it  became  time  for  Kirk  to  visit  Bruside. 

On  the  day  before  he  went  Kirk  gave  this  man  full  and 
careful  instruction,  and  by  next  afternoon  he  arrived  at  Bru- 
side. Here  he  met  the  chief  assistant  of  the  engineer  who 
had  designed  those  works,  and  for  five  days  they  sat  to- 
gether in  a  draughty  wooden  office,  which  had  replaced  the 
old  cottages.  The  Bruside  works  were  by  now  nearly  com- 
plete and  many  points  of  cost  remained  to  be  settled.  Charlie, 
very  miserable,  and  living  at  a  public-house  three  miles  away, 
occasionally  looked  in  at  the  office,  and  stood  and  warmed 
himself  at  the  smoky  stove. 

Charlie  took  a  light-hearted  view  of  Kirk's  engagement. 
It  amused  him  oddly  now  it  had  occurred,  and  he  felt  cer- 
tain it  would  not  last.  At  the  same  time  he  felt  genuinely 
sorry,  for  he  knew  it  affected  Kirk's  pay.  But  Clinton 
seemed  so  different  from  the  Clinton  of  Cirenhampton  and 
had  become  so  taciturn,  reserved,  and  so  much  older  and 
more  commanding,  that  Charlie  ventured  no  word  on  the 
subject. 


CHAPTER  XLVH 

KIRK  returned  to  Chunaldale  with  an  ordinary  bad  cold, 
of  which  so  far  he  had  taken  little  notice,  beyond  the 
-annoyance  it  caused  him.  On  arriving  he  went  at  once  to  his 
rooms.  Miss  Grayley  told  him  that  a  man  had  come  several 
times  that  morning  to  see  him,  and  again  after  lunch,  and 
had  seemed  very  anxious  indeed  for  his  return.  She  described 
his  appearance.  Kirk  at  once  went  out  of  doors  and  walked 
rapidly  towards  the  big  trench.  Even  as  he  approached  he 
could  see  things  were  seriously  wrong.  He  found  his  orders 
had  been  disobeyed,  a  different  system  of  timbering  had  been 
used.  Water  and  running-sand  under  great  pressure — as 
surmised  by  Kirk — had  been  met  with.  This  sloppy  ma- 
terial was  now  escaping  through  the  joints  and  base  of  the 
loose  and  bad  timbering.  One  whole  side  of  the  trench — 
with  the  timbering,  and  the  mass  of  earth  and  roadway  sup- 
ported by  the  timber  for  nearly  four  hundred  feet  of  length 
— had  already  sunk  a  little.  The  heavy  cross-struts  of  the 
timbering  were  out  of  level,  others  were  fractured,  or  on 
the  point  of  fracture.  Fine  cracks  were  visible  in  the  road, 
between  the  houses  and  the  trench.  Immediate  drastic 
remedy  was  essential  or  there  would  be  a  disaster — the 
destruction  and  collapse  first  of  the  road,  and  then  of  the 
row  of  houses.  The  incompetent  foreman  was  by  now  un- 
nerved, and  useless.  The  time  was  three  o'clock  and  che 
day  bitterly  cold  and  windy.  Heavy  cold  December  rain  fell 
at  intervals.  Kirk  noticed  the  man  had  not  even  had  sense 
to  stop  surface-water  running  down  the  fine  newly  opened 
cracks  in  the  roadway.  Kirk  had  this  work  commenced 
forthwith.  He  then  sent  a  note  to  his  best  ganger,  Bob  Foster, 

373 


374  THE    BOEN    FOOL 

a  tried  and  trusty  man, — he  bade  him  come  without  the  least 
delay.  He  told  him  to  leave  standing  the  work  he  was  do- 
ing. Kirk  awaited  this  man,  who  was  to  bring  with  him 
all  his  gang  and  also  send  for  any  other  men  who  could  be 
collected.  The  matter  was  highly  urgent. 

Kirk  then  sent  another  hasty  note  to  the  superintendent  of 
police.  He  asked  for  a  half  dozen  constables,  to  turn  all 
traffic  into  another  road,  warn  the  people  in  the  houses,  and, 
if  need  be,  enforce  exit  from  the  threatened  homes.  He  sent 
to  his  central  stores  for  heavy  timber. 

He  next  started  timber  men  to  work,  double-strutting  at 
the  worst  places,  but  there  was  a  shortage  of  timber,  and  he 
waited  anxiously  for  supplies  of  "long-stuff"  and  "die-square" 
to  be  brought  from  the  central  stores.  How  thankful  he  was 
that  he  had  always  kept  a  stock  untouched  and  ready  for 
emergencies. 

The  rest  of  the  men  on  the  spot,  about  fifty  in  number, 
and  all  tired  by  a  heavy  morning's  labour  and  the  struggle 
in  the  deep  and  wet  trench-bottom,  he  set  to  work  moving, 
carting,  and  wheeling  away  the  banks  of  earth  that  remained 
near  the  deep  excavation,  so  as  to  lessen  the  weight  on  the 
timber.  Kirk  also  ordered  men  to  throw  back  into  the  trench 
some  of  the  excavated  sand  and  earth.  He  sent  for  hay  and 
stable-dung,  and  for  trowels,  with  which  the  stuff  would  be 
rammed  into  the  timber  joints  and  thus  prevent  the  slow 
but  continuous  escape  of  sand  and  silt,  now  taking  place 
nearly  thirty  feet  down.  For  this  same  reason  he  also  slowed 
the  speed  of  pumps  and  allowed  the  water  to  rise  half  a 
dozen  feet.  But  when  the  new  ganger  came  with  eighty 
or  ninety  men,  it  was  already  nearly  dark. 

Kirk  now  called  to  the  man  responsible  for  this  mess. 

"I've  done  with  you.  Leave  the  work,  quick. — Wages  to- 
morrow at  nine." 

The  burly  man  looked  at  Kirk  with  a  black  anger,  but 
said  nothing,  and  then  walked  away,  his  face  disturbed. 


THE   BORN   FOOL  375 

"Now,  Foster,  this  trench  must  he  'soldiered'  throughout. 
— Thank  goodness!  here  comes  the  first  lot  of  stuff  to  do  it 
with!  Light  up  those  Lucigens!  Quicken  the  pumps  a 
shade!" 

They  glanced  along  the  dark  trench,  already  lit  dimly 
by  many  small  lights. 

"You're  right,  Sir;  'soldiers'  should  stop  it,  Sir,  an'  noth- 
in'  else  will." 

''Now  shout-up  the  men  or  they  won't  stick  it  in  this  beastly 
rain,  and  the  trench  is  simply  damnable — double  wages  for 
every  one  who  stops  and  does  his  bit." 

Foster  shouted  with  stentorian  voice — "Now,  all  you  cock- 
bucks!  .  .  .  Double-shift  for  every  man  as  works!" 

An  immediate  increase  of  vigour  took  place ;  the  men  be- 
gan to  work  with  renewed  will. 

Kirk  remained  till  eight  o'clock,  and  then  went  home.  He 
was  soaked  through,  and  colder  than  any  one;  for  the  men 
by  physical  exertions  kept  themselves  warm,  and  Bob  Foster 
was  provided  by  the  firm  with  thick  oilskins  and  a  good 
sou'wester. 

Kirk  had  changed  his  clothes  and  half  finished  a  meal, 
when  a  loud  knock  resounded  through  the  house. 

With  a  sense  of  disaster  Kirk  himself  hastened  to  the 
door.  Outside  in  the  pouring  sleety  rain  stood  Foster,  shame- 
faced, and  behind  him  was  a  mob  of  sulky  dripping  navvies 
and  timbermen. 

"They've  come  out  of  it,"  said  Foster. 

"What ! !  .  .   .  Do  you  call  yourselves  men  ?" 

Kirk  rushed  back  into  the  house  and  forcibly  thrust  on 
his  saturated  coat. 

"Come  on !  Follow  me !  Every  man  of  you !"  He  pushed 
through  them  roughly,  fiercely.  Every  man  followed  him, 
through  the  pouring  rain. 

Half  the  length  of  trench  was  now  safe,  but  the  other 
half  had  moved  nearer  to  destruction.  Even  as  Kirk  looked 
down,  a  big  strut  cracked,  crushed  up,  and  fell:  but  he 


376  THE    BORN   FOOL 

judged  the  timber  would  stand  at  least  another  hour,  before 
the  collapse  came.  He  looked  round  at  the  lamplit  faces, 
and  clenched  his  jaws.  The  policemen  were  there.  The  in- 
spector behind  him  attentively  awaited  orders.  Then  Kirk 
took  a  lantern  from  Bob,  and  they  went  inside  one  of  the 
narrow  gardens  that  fronted  the  row  of  houses.  They  stooped 
to  look  closely,  and,  as  Kirk  had  feared,  they  found  the 
garden  wall  had  begun  to  lean,  very  slightly,  outwards.  The 
rain  running  down  the  wall  entered  a  crack  one-eighth  of 
an  inch  wide,  just  where  the  earth  had  joined  the  wall.  They 
hastily  examined  twelve  gardens.  The  crack  was  continuous. 
The  long  fissure  in  the  road  had  all  been  carefully  stamped 
full  of  clay,  unfortunately  it  showed  no  change:  plainly  the 
whole — road  and  gardens  together — was  now  preparing  to 
move  in  mass. 

The  crowd  of  men  had  gathered  round  three  blazing  fires 
that  were  close  together.  Kirk  went  up  on  to  a  heap  of  earth 
by  these  fires,  and  the  soaked  men  stood  silent  and  attentive 
all  round  him. 

"How  many  of  you  are  here  ?"  said  he  hoarsely. 

A  timekeeper  replied — "About  one  hundred,  Sir." 

"Have  they  grubbed  since  dinner?" 

"No,  Sir." 

"Oh,  my  God!" 

Kirk  took  Bob's  pocketbook  and  wrote  a  note  on  the  sod- 
dened  and  wet  leaf  in  the  glare  of  the  nearest  roaring  Lucigen 
light.  He  tore  it  out  and  gave  it  to  Foster,  and  said  in  a 
loud  and  tranquil  voice  so  the  men  should  hear  well — 

"Bob,  my  son!  send  this  order  to  the  nearest  pub,  four 
men  and  three  barrows,  and  bring  back  three  kegs  of  the  best 
beer,  and  plenty  of  bread  and  cheese.  A  pint  all  round  as 
soon  as  it  comes,  and  a  pint  every  hour.  Put  old  Jack  in 
charge,  and  serve  it  out  quick, — a  bit  of  grub  with  each  pint 
— bring  plenty  of  cans,  and  then  go  back  for  more  beer." 

A  general  slow  but  encouraging  movement  had  taken  place 
among  the  men  when  the  magic  word  "beer"  sounded  in  their 


THE    BORN   FOOL  377 

ears.  Besides,  they  were  very  hungry:  that  was  their  real 
trouble.  Kirk  forthwith  struck  again  in  this  psychological 
pause. 

"Men!  Stand  by  the  firm.  Most  of  you  are  old  hands. 
Mr.  Bendigo's  a  good  master  to  us.  You  know  me.  There'll 
be  no  one  hurt  to-night!" 

"Bob !  Down  into  the  bottom !  with  me !"  said  he  aside,  tak- 
ing Bob  by  the  arm — "or  they'll  funk  it !" 

"Come  on,  my  sons!" 

He  began  to  climb  down,  lowering  himself  from  bay  to 
bay  with  bare  hands,  through  the  muddy,  strained,  and  dan- 
gerously distorted  timbering,  lightly  and  quickly  trying  each 
piece  with  his  foot  before  he  trusted  his  weight  upon  it.  Bob 
climbed  down  closely  after  him,  and  carried  a  lantern.  Be- 
fore they  were  halfway  down,  Kirk  glanced  up  and  saw  a 
dozen  good  timbermen  were  following. 

The  continual  sinister  cracking,  wheezing,  creaking,  and 
slight  groaning  of  the  timber-walls  was  now  much  more 
audible  to  Kirk  and  told  him  of  the  great  pressure  on  these 
timber  walls.  While  above,  the  wind,  the  Lucigens  and  the 
pumps  had  stopped  one  hearing  these  ominous  sounds.  He 
noticed  the  thick  horizontal  "whalings"  were  desperately 
bulged.  The  struts  holding  them  apart  were  being  slowly 
forced  into  them,  timber  forced  into  timber.  He  felt 
alarmed,  frightened,  now  he  was  down.  The  timber  would 
very  likely  bridge  them  if  it  came  in,  and  then  they  would 
drown  as  the  water  rose — for  the  pump  suctions  would  be 
choked  or  smashed.  A  moment  of  indecision  seized  him — 
whether  he  ought  to  risk  the  men's  lives?  and  Bob's, — who 
had  so  many  children. — Whether  he  ought  not  to  get  every 
one  out  of  the  trench  and  the  houses  without  delay?  But 
men  above  him  were  lowering  two  great  "soldiers" — that  is, 
vertical  timbers  equal  in  length  to  the  depth  of  the  trench. 
They  would  stand  upright  and  opposite,  in  pairs,  and  then 
be  strutted  apart  with  short  massive  timbers.  Kirk  and  Bob 
at  once  helped  with  their  own  hands,  guiding  the  descending 


378  THE    BORN"    FOOL 

bulks.  The  indecision  passed  and  Kirk's  clothes  were  soon 
smothered  with  mud.  Danger,  Marian,  everything  but  the 
work,  was  forgotten.  A  second  crowd  of  men,  above,  and  in 
the  trench,  were  lowering  another  pair  about  nine  feet  away. 

Kirk  shouted  at  them. 

"No !  No !  Every  twelve  feet !  till  we  have  her  done  all 
through  the  worst,  and  then  again,  between  'em!"  He 
coughed  a  great  deal  after  shouting. 

"Get  up  on  top  now,  Bob,  and  break  them  up  into  six 
proper  gangs !  they're  wasting  themselves  and  tumbling  over 
each  other !  I'll  stay  here." 

The  first  new  pair  of  soldiers  were  in  place,  nearly  strutted, 
and  had  taken  up  some  of  the  local  destructive  pressure. 

"Lookout!  .   .   .  damn!  !" 

A  heavy  short  piece  of  oak  loosened  by  the  new  timber- 
work  suddenly  had  fallen,  and  struck  other  timbers  in  its 
violent  descent.  The  red-headed  man  it  slightly  hit  swore 
tremendously,  while  he  rubbed  his  shoulder.  He  moved  it 
and  found  himself  all  right,  but  the  pain  was  severe — he 
rubbed  himself  again  and  swore  profusely.  But  Kirk 
laughed  and  spoke. 

"By  Jove,  Ginger !  you  ought  to  be  an  M.P. !" — and  all  the 
men  laughed,  for  anything  went  down  well  in  such  condi- 
tions. 

The  work  progressed  excellently.  Beer  was  again  served 
all  round  with  bread  and  cheese,  eaten  hastily  by  all  but  the 
police,  who  drank  and  munched  slower.  The  men — limited 
by  their  short  vocabulary — used  and  re-used  all  the  most  ob- 
scene and  favourite  expletives;  they  joked  most  grossly,  and 
worked  most  ardently,  despite  the  miseries  of  ice-cold  mud 
and  water,  saturated  boots  and  clothes — and  the  very  real 
danger. 

By  one  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  trench  past  the  houses 
was  safe,  and  there  remained  only  a  short  length  to  be  made 
secure.  Beer  and  a  good  mouthful  of  food  had  been  served 
out  three  times.  Kirk  clambered  up  again.  He  had  made  his 


THE   BOEN   FOOL  379 

way  backwards  and  forwards  several  times  by  now,  through- 
out the  whole  length  below.  He  now  went  along  the  road 
towards  the  remaining  forty  feet  of  deep  cutting.  Bob  a 
third  time  asked  him  to  go  home,  for  Kirk  was  of  course  quite 
wet  through ;  the  rain  had  gradually  turned  to  sleet  and  he 
felt  very  cold  and  coughed  incessantly,  but  he  felt  also  an 
enormous  satisfaction  with  the  night's  work,  and  was  in 
high  spirits,  and  Marian  had  remained  quite  forgotten. 

"I  seem  to  have  a  frightful  cold,  Bob!  but  the  bally  old 
trench  is  saved !" 

"You  go  'ome,  Master,  now,  and  get  'arf  a  solid  glass  of 
whisky  down  your  neck,  Sir,  there  ain't  no  cause  for  you  to 
stop  here  not  another  minute." 

"Well,  let's  just  look  at  the  last  bays." 

They  approached  the  spot  Kirk  suddenly  sniffed,  and 
put  his  head  low  down. 

"That's  gas !  !  Hold  this  lantern ! — no — get  right  away ! 
Put-it-out !" 

Kirk  went  behind  the  spoil-heaps  and  met  a  powerful  rush 
of  gas,  and  at  the  same  moment  he  heard  the  low,  strange  and 
sinister  whispering  of  an  earth-mass  in  preliminary  move- 
ment. He  rushed  to  the  trench — "Up  for  your  lives!  she's 
going  !" 

Panting  men  were  furiously  scrambling  up.  They  had 
heard  and  taken  the  alarm  before  Kirk  shouted. 

"Get  from  the  side!     Off  with  the  lights!" 

Then  followed  a  loud  roar  of  rending  crashing  timber,  and 
two  deep  muffled  blows  that  shook  ground  beneath  the  excited 
men. 

"Are  you  all  out  ?  Are  you  all  out  ?  Are  you  all  out  ?" 
cried  Kirk  anxiously. 

"Every  mother's  son!"  replied  a  hoarse  deep  voice. 

They  dare  not  go  near  the  huge  cavity  for  the  night  was 
pitch  dark,  and  gas  could  be  heard  escaping  in  volumes  from 
the  broken  main.  Bob  had  sent  two  men  running  to  the 
gas  works.  The  strong  wind  fortunately  blew  the  vapour 


380  THE   BORN   FOOL 

from  the  houses  and  the  lamp-lit  trench.  Kirk  then  sta- 
tioned police  so  that  no  night-farer  could  walk  into  the  huge 
pit  and  all  the  men  save  about  twenty  were  dismissed — 
after  finishing  the  beer,  of  course. 

Kirk,  Bob,  and  the  remaining  men  collected  at  a  safe 
distance,  round  the  fires,  and  awaited  the  people  from  the 
gasworks. 

These  men  had  promptly  shut  off  the  gas  on  their  way 
to  the  subsidence,  and  when  they  arrived  Kirk  was  able  to 
examine  the  collapse.  A  big  piece  of  road  was  swallowed, 
but  no  further  damage  would  ensue. 

"Well!  Jim,  we  have  been  lucky!" 

"That's  so,  Sir.  We'll  stop  and  trim  this  a  bit,  but  you 
go  'ome  this  gordforsaken  minute  or  you'll  catch  your  death 
of  cold — and  do  what  my  missus  never  'as  much  trouble 
to  make  me  do — get  half  a  glass  of  solid-whisky-neat  down 
your  neck,  Sir,  afore  you  turns  in,  and  get  a  good  muck- 
sweat  on  you,  Sir." 

"All  right,  Bob,"  hoarsely  said  Kirk,  smiling,  and  he 
added,  "I'll  do  it  to  please  you !" 

He  walked  home  feeling  strangely  light-headed.  He  had 
forgotten  Marian,  He  was  intensely  self-satisfied.  "Ju- 
dicious beer  and  good  leading  overcometh  all  things!"  had 
said  Brough.  Nothing  beat  real  things ;  authors  and  artists 
and  most  people  knew  nothing  of  the  pleasure  of  real  things, 
of  good  fights  with  heavy  dangerous  things  and  men. 

He  remembered  when  he  got  home  that  there  was  no 
whisky  that  he  knew  of  in  the  house.  He  never  drank  it 
except  occasionally  with  Brough,  or  when  with  some  one 
he  met.  His  bed-room  had  no  fireplace,  and  felt  dank  and 
cold.  He  saw  his  breath  as  he  coughed.  He  felt  extremely 
cold  now.  He  spread  two  jackets  on  the  bed  and  got  in,  but 
coughed  so  much  that  several  times  he  left  his  bed  to  drink  a 
little  water.  At  length  he  fell  asleep  and  dreamed  frightful 
nightmares,  in  which  he  was  caught  and  suffocated  in  the 
trench. 


CHAPTER  XLVIII 

WHEN  morning  came  he  felt  very  ill.  His  chest 
seemed  as  though  blown  up  tightly  with  air,  and  he 
breathed  fast  and  short.  Alternate  heat  and  shivering  passed 
over  his  skin,  and  every  cough  hurt  him  deep  down  in  the 
back.  Snow  was  now  beating  and  whispering  on  the  window- 
panes,  and  his  room  was  icy  cold. 

At  eleven  o'clock  the  doctor  sent  for  by  Miss  Grayley  sat 
on  the  bedside,  his  finger  tips  on  Kirk's  rapid  pulse — while 
he  gravely  watched  the  sparkling  eyes  and  flushed  face  of 
the  patient.  Kirk  smiled,  and  with  some  difficulty  exactly 
described  his  own  sensations.  He  sat  up  and  the  doctor 
listened  to  him  back  and  front.  The  change  of  position  made 
Kirk  feel  very  sick. 

"Are  you  married?" 

"No." 

"You'll  be  a  lot  worse  before  you're  better." 

"Why?— Am  I  so  ill?" 

"Pneumonia,  my  young  friend.  Shall  we  send  for  any 
one?" 

"...  No  .  .  .  thank  you,  doctor." 

"I  think  your  family  should  know.  .  .  .  You  must  have 
a  nurse  at  once.  Perhaps  you,  Miss  Grayley,  will  help  in 
the  daytime  ?" 

"Yes,  indeed  I  will,  one  professional  nurse  is  quite 
enough." 

"You're  going  to  be  very  ill,  I  am  afraid,  Mr.  Clinton.  Is 
there  no  one  who  should  be  told  ?" 

"I  shall  not  die,"  said  Kirk  resolutely. — "You  needn't 

381 


382  THE    BORN   FOOL 

worry.  But  I  like  your  bluntness.  My  kind  doesn't  die 
young,"  said  he. 

The  doctor  laughed,  and  declared  to  Miss  Grayley  — 
"That's  the  sort  of  patient  for  me!" 

"I  must  write  a  letter,  at  once,  and  see  my  foreman,"  in- 
terrupted Kirk. 

"You  will  do  nothing  of  the  sort  !  You  must  not  have  even 
your  hands  out  of  bed  !  not  if  you  want  to  be  pulled  through 
this.  This  room  won't  do,  Miss  Grayley." 

He  walked  out  into  the  larger  bedroom  where  he  saw  the 
fireplace. 

"Get  him  in  here  at  once  while  he  can  walk.  But  first  air 
the  blankets.  Put  in  a  fire,  and  it  must  be  kept  in  night  and 
day  —  it  must  never  go  down.  One  minute,  Miss  Gray- 
ley 


himself  he  re-entered  Kirk's  room. 

"Now  you've  got  to  be  absolutely  obedient,  and  think  of 
nothing  but  getting  well.  I'll  send  you  a  first-class  nurse,  a 
lady  whom  I  can  trust;  but  her  fee  will  be  three  guineas 
a  week.  I  suppose  you  can  afford  that  ?" 

Kirk  received  this  shock  in  silence.  He  saw  his  little  store 
of  money  was  going  to  be  used  up. 

"If  you  are  not  very  skilfully  nursed  you  will  die.  It  will 
pay  you  to  have  a  good  nurse." 

Kirk  gave  consent.  He  had  thought,  "If  I  die,  then 
Marian  will  die  miserably." 

Kirk  promised  he  would  obey  orders.  He  promised  the 
doctor  he  would  do  no  writing;  he  undertook  to  keep  his 
hands  covered. 

The  doctor  wrote  a  telegram  and  gave  it  to  Miss  Grayley. 

Marian  would  wonder  why  he  had  not  written,  and  Kirk 
thought  anxiously  how  to  explain  why  he  could  not  himself 
write.  How  foolish  he  had  been  to  promise  faithfully  that  he 
would  keep  his  hands  beneath  the  clothes.  Impatiently  he 


THE   BORN   FOOL  383 

awaited  the  nurse.  He  would  ask  her  to  write  for  him.  He 
felt  that  he  could  not  disclose  himself  to  Miss  Grayley. 

He  began  to  feel  very  ill.  He  had  never  before  felt  his 
heart  beat  at  so  ridiculous  a  rate ! 

About  five  o'clock  his  small  acute  ears  heard  the  snow- 
deadened  sound  of  a  carriage ;  the  noise  of  doors  in  the  house 
quickly  followed.  Kirk  feverishly  imagined  the  conversation 
in  progress  between  the  nurse  and  Miss  Grayley. 

Miss  Fortescue  possessed  a  quiet,  well-bred  and  very  sooth- 
ing manner.  She  was  rather  plump,  but  graceful  and  suave 
in  movement.  The  nurse  and  patient  on  seeing  each  other 
mutually  smiled. 

"Good  evening,  Nurse  .  .  .  I'm  a  nice  crock,  I  am." 

Miss  Grayley  left  them  together.  Miss  Fortescue  pressed 
the  burning  dry  hand  and  put  it  back  under  the  clothes.  She 
felt  the  two  pillows  for  a  moment,  then  put  her  smooth  skilful 
hand  softly  under  the  back  of  his  neck  and  reversed  them, 
bringing  the  soft  one  uppermost  and  squeezing  it  in  a  very 
practised  neat  way  to  a  comfortable  roundness. 

"Thank  you  ...  I  say  .  .  .  that's  much  better." 

"Miss  Fortescue,  would  you  mind  writing  a  letter  for  me  ? 
I'm  such  a  fool.  I  told  the  doctor  I  wouldn't.  There's  ink 
and  paper,  in  the  next  room." 

"Of  course  I  will,"  said  she  moving  gently  about  the  room 
— "I've  written  many,  many  letters  for  patients— always  do- 
ing it. — Shall  we  do  it  now  ?" 

"Please ;  thank  you,  so  much."  She  returned  and  sat  down 
half-facing  him. 

"It  must  be  very  short,  for  you  ought  not  really  to  talk 
more  than  you  can  possibly  help — speak  quite  low." 

Kirk  thought  painfully,  and  began  to  dictate. 

"  'My  dearest  Marian,  I  have  a  ...  sprained  wrist/  r 

Miss  Fortescue  looked  at  him  deprecatingly,  and  he  smiled 
at  her. 

".  .  .  But  why  should  you  wish  to  say  that,  Mr.  Clinton  ? 


384  THE    BOEN    FOOL 

Any  one  who  cares  for  you  would  far  rather  know  the  truth.'' 
She  waited  till  he  finished  his  severe  coughing. 

"Do  you  ...  do  you  .  .  .  think  she  would  ?  would  it  not 
trouble  her  a  great  deal  ?" 

"She  would  far  rather  know  you  are  ill  than  be  deceived 
by  you." 

"Are  you  sure  ?    I'm  so  afraid  of  her  being  frightened." 

"I  am  quite  positively  sure  it  is  best  to  tell  her." 

"Well  .  .  .  'My  dearest  Marian,  I  have  had,  the  bad  luck, 
to  get  a  slight,  dose,  ...  of  pneumonia,  and  like  a  fool,  I 
promised  the  doctor,  I  would  do  nothing' — Please,  Nurse,  put 
the  commas  in,  not  many,  a  long  way  apart,  it  will  sound 
.  .  .  easy  then.  'You  must  not,  worry  a  bit,  dear,  comma, 
and  of  course,  if  I  were  to  become,  seriously  ill,  I  would  ask 
you,  to  come  and  see  me ;  but  it  would  be,  quite  a  waste  of 
money,  to  do  so  now,  comma,  and  I  am  very  comfortable  here, 
and  have  a  very,  nice  nurse,'  " — Kirk  and  his  nurse  smiled — 
"  'indeed,'  "  added  he,  "  'full  stop,'  "  and  they  smiled  again 
at  each  other. 

"  'It  has  been  necessary,  to  have  a  trained  nurse,  because 
I  am  forbidden,  to  get  up,  and  poor  old  Miss  Grayley,  is  too 
old,  to  attend  to  a  young,  fellow  like  me.  There  is  no,  danger, 
at  all,  I  shall  soon  be  on  my  legs,  again,  comma,  I  will  send  a 
note,  every  three  days,  as  usual.' ' 

"I  think  that  you  have  done  quite  enough  now,  Mr.  Clin- 
ton," said  the  nurse  rising  from  her  chair — "You  see  it's 
made  your  cough  very  much  worse."  She  gave  him  some 
barley  water. 

He  moved  his  head  negatively — "A  bit  more — "  She  took 
the  pen  up  again. 

"  'I  had  some,  bother,  with  a  bad  trench,  and  got,  a  bit 
wet,  comma,  but  as  you  know,  I  am  really,  a  very  tough,  and 
healthy  chap,  comma,  so  don't  worry,  dearest,  but  obey  me. 
Your  affectionate  and  loving,  Kirk.  K,  i,  r,  k.' ' 

Miss  Fortescue  addressed  the  envelope  to  his  dictation  and 
went  into  the  next  room.  There  she  wrote  a  hasty  note — 


THE   BOKIST   FOOL  385 

"Dear  Miss  Gisburn,  I  must  tell  you  that  Mr.  Clinton  is 
seriously  ill,  although  at  present  there  is  no  great  danger. 
He  will  be  what  I  consider  a  good  patient,  and  I  feel  sure 
he  will  pull  through.  You  can  rely  upon  me  to  nurse  him 
with  every  possible  care — I  have  had  much  experience,  I  am 
forty  years  old — and  I  will  see  that  nothing  is  left  undone 
for  him  that  should  be  done,  so  do  not  be  unduly  anxious. 
The  doctor  will  certainly  not  allow  either  you  or  any  one  to 
see  him  for  at  least  a  week  or  so,  while  the  disease  runs  its 
usual  course.  When  you  write  do  so  calmly  as  he  must  on  no 
account  be  worried  about  your  feelings,  about  his  work,  or 
about  anything.  I  will  send  you  a  line  myself  each  day,  and 
if  he  were  to  become  dangerously  ill — which  I  don't  much 
expect — I  will  telegraph  for  you.  Believe  me,  dear  Miss  Gis- 
burn, yours  very  sincerely,  Helena  Fortescue." 

The  next  morning  Kirk's  temperature  had  risen  to  a  hun- 
dred and  three — and  each  cough  hurt  so  acutely  that  he  held 
himself  tightly  with  both  hands.  He  had  increasing  diffi- 
culty to  prevent  crying  out  as  each  spasm  began.  During 
the  afternoon  the  doctor  made  his  second  visit  that  day.  He 
sat  on  the  bed  and  looked  down  at  Kirk,  who  lay  in  a  curious 
position  face  downwards,  with  his  head  over  the  side  of  the 
bed. 

The  nurse  enquired  about  this  with  a  single  look,  and  the 
doctor  replied  aloud — 

"Let  him  lie  as  he  likes  if  he  feels  easier  that  way ;  but  we 
must  get  him  up  now." 

An  extraordinary  weakness  overcame  Kirk,  and  he  allowed 
himself  to  be  assisted  to  a  sitting  position  while  the  doctor 
sounded  his  back,  uncovering  a  little  at  a  time.  They  laid 
him  down  again. 

Putting  his  hands  beneath  the  clothes  the  doctor  felt  Kirk's 
body  and  limbs. 

"Built  like  a  long-distance  runner !  ain't  he  nurse  ?  He's 
very  wiry  and  hard,  but  he's  not  fat  enough." 

"I  am,  I  got  placed,  in  the  mile,  and  the  half,  mile." 


386  THE   BORN   FOOL 

"You  shut  up  talking,  my  young  man,  and  strictly  obey  my 
she-dragon.  You've  got  to  save  every  bit  of  wind  for  this 
sprint,  I  can  tell  you  I" 

"I  will."  Kirk  grinned  cheerfully  at  the  nurse,  but  his 
face  already  was  altering. 

Early  that  night  he  became  delirious,  with  a  very  high 
temperature.  He  complained  incoherently  that  rings  of 
bright  light  were  round  him,  brighter  and  brighter,  too  daz- 
zling to  look  at,  especially  the  vivid  spot  in  the  centre.  He 
threw  his  head  from  side  to  side,  to  escape  the  glare.  Then 
he  imagined  his  thumbs  were  growing  enormous! — each  as 
big  as  his  body !  while  he  himself  shrunk  to  a  minute  being. 
— By  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  he  was  quite  unconscious, 
but  highly  delirious,  and  in  unnatural  strength  repeatedly  sat 
up  in  bed  and  jumped  about  convulsively.  At  four  o'clock 
Miss  Eortescue  knocked  until  Miss  Grayley  came. 

"He's  very  delirious — I  was  so  sorry  to  disturb  you — but 
he  throws  the  clothes  off  the  moment  I  leave  him,  and  I've 
not  had  time  to  make  the  cotton  jacket — there  it  is,  just  take 
my  needle  and  finish  off  lining  the  vest  with  the  cotton  wool, 
quick  as  you  can,  then  we'll  get  it  on  and  he  won't  run  such 
a  risk  of  chill." 

Quite  frightened  by  Kirk's  torrent  of  words  and  violent 
movements,  Miss  Grayley  asked  if  the  doctor  should  not  be 
sent  for. 

"Not  yet,  but  we'll  have  him  here  early  if  this  lasts." 

When  they  were  slipping  the  wool-lined  armless  vest 
round  Kirk,  he  seized  Miss  Grayley's  arm  with  a  vice-like 
grip,  and  spoke  hoarsely,  rapidly  and  most  excitedly. 

"It's  coming  in,  I  tell  you,  Bob !  !  .  .  .  can't  we  get  up  ? 
.  .  .  come  here,  dear!  there!  to  me!  in  my  arms,  why  I'd 
never  hurt  you !  put  your  dear  head  down,  in  my  arms  .  .  . 
it  shan't  kill  you,  by  God !  Marian  .  .  .  stand  over  here,  Bob ! 
.  .  .  I'll  never  let  you  know  .  .  .  will  I  hell !  No !  I  cant 
love  you !  ...  if  you  will  laugh  so  horribly  .  .  .  what  shall 
I  do  ...  what  shall  I  do  ?  ...  I've  broken  her  heart  .  .  . 


THE    BORN   FOOL  387 

she  doesn't  know  ...  I  can't  do  it  ...  Mother  .  .  .  why 
don't  I  love  her?"  .  .  .  He  struggled  with  Miss  Grayley. 
"It's  coming!  I  tell  you  it's  coming!  !  !  .  .  ." — He  gave 
a  terrible  jump  in  the  bed,  stared  fixedly,  then  fell  back,  and 
lay  still  a  little  like  one  asleep.  .  .  .  Miss  Grayley  was 
trembling  all  over,  and  her  arm  hurt  from  the  force  with 
which  Kirk  had  clutched  it.  The  nurse  calmed  her — 

"They  are  often  like  this,  Miss  Grayley.  He's  quite  a 
normal  case  ...  Of  course,  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that 
what  patients  say  in  delirium  is  either  sacred,  or  rubbish,  and 
must  not  be  repeated  ?" — She  was  carefully  covering  up  Kirk. 

"Oh  yes,  yes,  poor  fellow,  I  know  he's  in  trouble  about 
some  girl — I  guessed  it — she  writes  to  him — " 

"Will  you  put  a  little  coal  on  for  me?  Use  those  old 
garden-gloves  I  brought,  make  no  noise,  it  might  break  the 
torpor.  I  had  not  expected  he  would  be  delirious  quite  so 
soon." 

Kirk  was  unconscious  for  three  days  and  came  to  himself 
in  the  afternoon,  while  the  doctor  stood  over  him.  The  pa- 
tient  began  to  cough  and  suffocate. 

The  nurse  rapidly  lifted  him.  The  doctor  held  him  and 
vigorously  fanned  him  with  the  nurse's  chart-book. 

"Open  the  window!" — cried  he.  Miss  Grayley  did  so 
quickly. 

But  Kirk  slipped  down,  struggling  convulsively  for  breath. 
The  doctor  grabbed  him  by  his  brown  curly  hair  and  lifted 
him  right  up  into  a  sitting  posture,  and  Kirk  got  painful 
breath. 

"By  Jove,  young  man,  you  mustn't  do  that !" 

Kirk  panted  weakly  and  coughed,  he  was  too  weak  to  hold 
himself,  and  too  weak  to  prevent  a  faint  groan  at  the  fearful 
pain  in  his  back.  After  a  little,  the  paroxysm  ceased,  and 
he  was  laid  down  again  on  the  high  pillows,  and  then  he 
continued  his  anxious  first  thoughts  before  he  was  delirious 


388  THE    BOKN    FOOL 

— He  must  not  die  because  of  Marian,  and  he  would  not  die ; 
and  he  clenched  his  teeth  .  .  . 

"Now  shut  it!"  said  the  doctor  to  Miss  Grayley.  He  went 
out  with  Miss  Fortescue  and  stood  still,  looking  at  her. 

"Nurse,  he's  a  very  bad  case.     I'm  afraid  he's  going." 

"If  the  delirium  or  coma  returns  .  .  .  but  his  will  is  very 
strong  .  .  .  now  he's  conscious." 

Some  days  later  Kirk  lay  in  bed,  more  helpless  physically 
than  a  baby,  too  weak  even  to  lift  his  fore-arms,  but  con- 
valescent. He  was  raised  up  frequently  for  agonised  cough- 
ing, and  was  fanned.  He  felt  desperately  emptied  of  life — 
but  the  disease  was  leaving  him.  During  two  days  excessive 
perspiration  trickled  from  him.  Strength  slowly  returned 
day  by  day. 

One  afternoon,  as  the  winter  evening  came  on,  he  gazed 
at  his  nurse  until  he  met  her  dark  eyes. 

"Nurse  .  .  .  you  dear  woman  .  .  ."  whispered  Kirk. 

"Well?"  said  she,  coming  to  him  and  laying  her  smooth 
hand  upon  his  forehead. 

"Your  hand's  like  mother's  .  .  ."  He  took  it  feebly  and 
kissed  it.  A  strange  tear  ran  down  past  the  sharpened  angle 
of  his  jaw. 

"Will  you  write  for  me?  and  ask  Miss  Butterworth  to 
come?" 

"Would  you  like  to  see  her  so  soon  ?    Can  you  bear  it  ?" 

"Yes  ...  I  must  see  her,  now." 

Two  days  later  Marian  arrived.  All  morning  Kirk  had 
been  conjuring  up  an  affectionate  meeting,  but  now  that  he 
heard  her  steps  ascend  the  stair  a  sudden  fear  overcame  him, 
and  he  had  no  strength  left  to  combat  his  nervous  expectancy. 

Outside  the  door  Miss  Fortescue  met  Marian.  A  sharp 
sense  of  tragedy  went  through  her  when  she  saw  the  girl  was 
not  one  for  Kirk  and  was  much  older.  The  unguarded  glance 
and  hostile  feeling  were  felt  by  Marian. 

"You  must  not  let  him  talk  much.  He  is  very,  very  weak, 
indeed,  Miss  Butterworth.  Please  sit  facing  him — I  have 


THE    BORN    FOOL  389 

put  a  chair  for  you — and  then  he  will  not  have  to  move  his 
head.  You  must  be  quite  calm  and  ordinary.  I'll  come 
back  in  a  few  minutes :  you  will  not  agitate  him  .  .  .  ?" 

"No"  said  Marian,  but  not  listening  to  the  words.  For 
she  felt  a  strong  jealousy  of  this  charming  woman,  and  a 
grief  and  resentment  at  her  own  sense  of  inferiority  and 
isolation. 

Miss  Fortescue  opened  the  door,  saying  brightly  to  Kirk, 
"Mr.  Clinton,  your  visitor  is  here !" 

Marian  entered  and  the  door  closed  behind  her. 
She  stood  transfixed  by  the  great  change  and  deathly  ap- 
pearance made  in  Kirk's  face.     Then,  uttering  a  cry  of  an- 
guish she  fell  on  her  knees  by  the  bed  and  threw  her  arms 
round  him,  and  pressed  her  head  on  his  breast. 

This  shook  the  bed  and  upset  him  very  much,  for  he  was 
immediately  very  afraid  of  beginning  to  cough. 

Then  she  kissed  him  and  let  her  head  rest  again  on  his 
chest.  The  pressure  was  more  than  he  could  bear  in  his  ex- 
treme weakness.  She  laughed  nervously  to  herself  in  her 
great  joy  of  contact  with  her  lover.  With  shut  eyes  she  felt 
for  his  hand. 

"Marian,  dear  .  .  .  it's  too,  heavy,  dear,  my  chest- 
She  stood  up  over-hastily,  again  shaking  the  bed.     She 
spoke  in  that  thick  voice  she  could  not  help  when  overcome 
by  great  emotion. 

"Oh,  dear,  have  I  hurt  you?  I  didn't  mean,  I'd  forgot 
you  were  so  dreadfully  ill.  Oo,  Kirk  ...  if  you'd  died 
...  It  would  have  killed  me.  ...  Oo,  Kirk  darling,  y'r 
mustn't  die.  You  don't  know  what  I've  gone  through." 

She  stood  still,  her  hands  clasped  tightly  against  her  heart, 
while  fearfully  and  introspectively  she  thought  of  the  first 
shock  of  the  bad  news,  and  of  all  that  followed. 

"I  think,  I  do,  dear,"  feebly  said  Kirk,  overcoming  him- 
self— "Give  me,  your  hand.  Don't  shake  me,  dear,  it  makes 
me,  cough,  I'm  all  right,  now,  ...  but  I'm  so,  cut  up  about 
the  money,  it  will  cost." 


390  THE    BORN    FOOL 

"Ay,  Kirk,  dear,  never  mind  that!" — said  she,  stooping 
over  him,  while  her  hand  stroked  his  wet  hair — "I  could  wait 
for  ever  for  you — " 

".  .  .  I'm  not  worthy,  of  you  ...  or  any  girl,  you  are  so 
faithful,  dear,  ...  I  want  to  get  you,  away,  from  that  hor- 
rible, mill  .  .  ." 

"Ay,  you  mustn't  worry,  dear !"  cried  she  with  a  lightened 
heart,  jumping  up  and  re-shaking  the  bed — and  Kirk  knew 
he  was  going  to  cough  and  he  tried  to  sit  up  and  hold  him- 
self— "Call  Nurse!" — said  he  faintly,  his  face  distorted. 
Marian  opened  the  door — and  hearing  the  cough  beginning 
Miss  Fortescue  came  swiftly  in  and  held  Kirk  up. 

To  Marian  it  was  agony  to  see  Kirk  suffer  like  this,  and 
she  went  perfectly  white.  When  he  had  been  laid  down  again 
the  nurse  bade  her  say  good-bye.  She  kissed  Kirk  and  he 
turned  his  clammy  face  and  kissed  her.  He  smiled  anxiously, 
with  clenched  jaws,  and  pressed  her  hand. 

In  the  evening  the  patient's  temperature  rose  very  high, 
and  he  suffered  a  partial  relapse.  The  doctor  made  his  own 
inquiries  of  Miss  Fortescue ;  and  they  determined  to  admit  no 
one  else  to  see  him. 

But  in  a  few  days  Kirk  began  steadily  to  improve.  Un- 
expectedly, a  calmness  and  stoical  resignation  entered  him  on 
the  day  after  Marian's  departure. 

After  all  these  months  of  acute  unrest  and  severe  mental 
struggle,  it  was  a  blessed  feeling  to  know  he  had  achieved 
resignation  and  complete  self-conquest,  to  perceive  that  the 
period  in  his  life  of  intense  desire  for  personal  happiness, 
that  burning  love-passion,  full  of  selfishness,  grief,  impossi- 
bilities and  madness — had  burnt  itself  out.  Never  had  he  felt 
so  extraordinarily  calm,  so  stably  fixed  in  purpose,  so  irre- 
vocably confident — that  now,  at  last,  he  would  go  on  along  his 
life-road,  looking  neither  to  left  nor  to  right,  fully  aware 
that  his  plain  duty,  the  sole  honourable  course,  was  to  lead 
Marian  by  the  hand,  "Until  death  us  do  part."  "Until  death 
us  do  part."  His  duty  beyond  that  remote  point  would  cease. 


THE    BOKN    FOOL  391 

But  Marian  Butterworth  was  in  no  such  state  of  mind. 
The  further  she  receded  from  Miss  Fortescue,  the  more  arose 
in  herself  an  uncontrollable  jealousy — an  intuitive  fear  of 
hostile  influence,  a  fear  that  quite  unnerved  her ;  so  much  so, 
that,  on  reaching  home  she  sat  down  at  once  and  wrote  hastily 
to  Kirk,  making  what  she  thought  a  clever  allusion  to  this 
woman,  who  had  treated  her  so  cavalierly,  usurpingly  or,  in 
Marian's  thoughts,  "off-handedly,"  "jealously,"  "cruelly." 
Bitter  tears  filled  her  eyes  as  she  recalled  that  first  unguarded 
glance  of  surprise  and  disapproval.  A  pulse  of  hot  anger 
dried  her  tears  as  she  felt  again  the  miserable  inferiority 
which  had  overcome  her  in  that  woman's  presence. 

"She  doesn't  know  my  darling  Kirk.  He's  worth  fifty  of 
her  sort !  and  it's  me  he  loves !" 

She  put  her  woman's  last  word  in  a  long  postscript — 

"Miss  Fortescue  seems  very  fond  of  you,  Kirk,  and  I'm 
sure  she's  nursed  you  well,  she'd  hardly  let  us  have  a  word 
together — though  you'd  never  see  that  yourself,  dear — I  sup- 
pose she'll  leave  you  as  soon  as  your  cough  gets  better.  Miss 
Grayley  says  she  gets  three  pounds  a  week." 

Marian  read  this  over  and  felt  a  good  impulse  to  cross  it  all 
out,  or  tear  up  the  letter.  After  a  long  pause  she  put  aside 
her  jealousy  and  her  humiliation.  She  went  to  the  fire  and 
carefully  burnt  the  letter.  A  new  and  beautiful  feeling  had 
entered  her ;  she  felt  uplifted  and  braver.  She  sat  thinking 
of  Kirk,  and  there  were  fresh  tears  in  her  eyes,  but  they  were 
tears  of  .tenderness.  Humbly  she  determined  she  would  try 
hard  to  improve  herself  and  become  worthy  of  him.  She 
had  been  foolish  and  wicked  to  doubt  his  faithfulness. 

In  this  spirit  she  wrote  another  letter,  taking  pains  with 
her  writing,  and  she  concluded  with  these  words: — "Miss 
Fortescue  must  stay  with  you  until  you  are  quite  better,  Kirk 
dear,  for  she  is  a  splendid  nurse  I  could  see,  and  though  it 
takes  a  lot  of  money,  I  don't  mind  that  one  littlest  bit,  be- 
cause you're  getting  better  all  right.  I  have  prayed  for  you 
every  day.  God  bless  you,  dear.  Ever  your  loving  Marian." 


CHAPTER  XLIX 

THE  convalescent  went  to  Cornwall,  where,  during  six 
expensive  weeks,  lie  continued  the  reduction  of  his 
savings. 

The  calmness  of  his  mind  remained.  Marian's  jealousy 
made  him  feel  sad,  it  but  gave  evidence  of  his  new  reflections 
— that  all  human  beings  were  terribly  separate — that  all  those 
ardent,  touching  hopes  of  true  union,  of  great  love,  between 
men  and  women,  were  mostly  useless,  and  none  would  ever 
be  fulfilled.  One  or  the  other,  the  man  or  the  woman,  always 
failed;  Marian  had  failed  to  some  extent.  He  himself  had 
failed  grievously,  therefore  he  must  bear  the  greater  burden. 
Affection,  evidently,  was  a  very  difficult  form  of  duty — and 
had  to  be  performed  like  most  duties — dead  against  our  sel- 
fish personal  inclination. 

At  Looe  Kirk  slowly  recuperated,  and  at  this  distance 
from  the  north,  in  the  warm  sweet  winter  of  Cornwall,  not 
altogether  would  his  youthfulness  be  denied,  and  he  began 
to  feel  some  mild  enjoyment  in  his  life.  The  people  staying 
in  the  hotel  found  him  an  interesting  personality.  Whist 
he  played  with  mathematical  precision.  He  was  well  dressed, 
well-read,  quite  au-fait  by  nature,  went  walks  with  mothers 
and  fathers,  listened  well,  appeared  to  be  sincerely  interested, 
spontaneously  re-arranged  old  ladies'  cushions — the  un- 
scientific angle  of  the  uncomfortable,  said  he,  obliged  him 
to  alter  it.  Then,  too,  he  spoke  never  of  himself,  but  evaded 
all  leading  questions  with  quiet,  skilful,  and  gently  satirical 
replies.  To  the  girls  and  younger  women  he  was  an  enigma 
they  discussed.  It  soon  became  plain  he  courteously  avoided 
them ;  yet  when  this  was  not  possible,  his  manner,  if  oddly 
tender  and  fatherly,  was  yet  invariably  pleasing,  rather  sur- 

392 


THE    BOEN    FOOL  393 

prising1,  very  attractive  to  them.  He  was  not  aware  that  he 
hungered  so  deeply  for  companionship  of  refined  women; 
he  was  not  aware  that  such  would  have  meant  infinitely  more 
to  him,  and  to  his  future  life,  than  to  an  average  man.  One 
day  when  walking  with  a  certain  Major  Arkwright  and  his 
wife,  he  was  startled  to  be  laughed  over  curiously.  Looking 
at  her  young  companion,  Mrs.  Arkwright  remarked — 

"No  one  could  call  you  a  ladies'  man,  and  yet,  you  know, 
Mr.  Clinton,  you  have  a  most  compromising  manner  with 
them!"  and  she  and  her  husband  laughed. 

".  .  .  But  surely  I  have  no  such  manner?  Ah — I  see!" 
said  Kirk,  contracting  sensitively, — "You  mean  I  am  the 
opposite  ?" 

"No !  oh  no,  young  fellow !  don't  you  dissimulate !  you 
have  a  way  and  a  taking  manner  with  the  girls  and  you  know 
it!" 

"I  do  not — I  assure  you  .  .  .  I'm  sorry — I  thought  I 
avoided  them."  A  painful  flush  rose  in  his  thin  cheeks. 

"Oh,  what  an  ungallant !" 

"That's  only  his  superior  blase  manner — isn't  it,  wife?" 

"No  .  .  .  indeed,  it  is  only  ...  I  reverence  women,  but 
it  seems  such  an  utter  waste.  If  a  man  were  going  to  marry 
her,  then  he  should  do  all  these  things.  I  feel  sure,  I  know, 
that  women  would  not  really  like  me  ...  if  they  knew  me 
really.  They  like  men  who  are  naturally  unselfish,  men  un- 
critical, and  who  are  great  in  some  way,  fine  physically,  strong 
in  some  good  way,  or  very  clever — I'm  none  of  these" — Kirk 
began  to  smile — "I  remember  one  girl  who  said  the  man  she 
would  marry  must  have  a  deep  voice,  and  she  was  right.  I 
notice  such  men  are  always  strong  and  stable  in  affection. 
Women  must  have  affection  given  them,  but  men  can  do 
very  well  by  themselves — it's  their  duty  to  do  so." 

"My  dear  fellow !  of  all  the  very  rummest  ideas !  but  there ! 
we  all  go  through  these  phases  while  we're  young !  What  is 
he,  dear  ?  Twenty-two  ?  The  lofty  grave  conceit  of  it !  At 
twenty-two !  Laying  down  the  law  re  women.  I'm  forty-five, 


394  THE    BORN    FOOL 

and  you  make  take  it  from  me,  young  Sir,  No  MAN  ever  really 
comprehends  a  woman!  That's  just  the  delight  of  them! 
Their  unexpectedness !  Now  as  a  matter  of  actual  fact  most 
of  what  you  said  is  just  the  other  way  about.  Why !  I've  seen 
the  prettiest,  wealthiest,  sweetest  girl  in  the  station  throw 
herself,  absolutely  chuck  herself !  at  the  most  wretched  speci- 
men of  a  sub !" — While  he  looked  at  Kirk,  he  put  his  hand 
on  his  wife's  arm — "Just  think  of  Ella  Ross,  my  dear,  and 
her  worm  of  a  husband !  A  fine  girl  like  Ella !  And  he'd 
no  money  either.  .  .  ." 

"All  the  same!" — began  Mrs.  Arkwright — secretly  de- 
lighted of  the  opportunity — "there's  a  great  deal  in  what  Mr. 
Clinton  says — not  of  himself" — she  bowed  and  smiled  at 
him — "though  I'm  not  going  to  flatter  him — but  on  the  day 
I  first  met  you,  dear,  I  knew  something  that  you  had  done." 

"Dear  lady !  silence.  Nothing  has  ever  been  so  detestable 
a  nuisance.  I  grant  you  the  argument  off-hand — no  more !" 

These  pleasant  days  passed  away,  and  Kirk  said  good-bye 
to  all  these  friendly  people,  as  one  might  say  good-bye  when 
leaving  civilisation,  to  return  to  exile  in  some  Polar  waste. 

He  received  orders  to  go  to  Bruside,  put  all  in  final  order, 
settle  all  outstanding  accounts,  and  see  the  new  engines  start 
their  work. 

After  leaving  Crewe  snow  began  to  appear  thinly  on  the 
ground.  At  Stockport  heaps  of  dirty  snow  lined  the  further 
parts  of  the  platform.  The  Bruside  valley  Kirk  well  knew 
would  be  deep  in  snow.  About  seven  in  the  evening  he  ar- 
rived, greatly  feeling  the  cold.  Marian  met  him.  She  had 
come  down  in  a  cab.  Together  they  drove  up  with  the  win- 
dows closed,  and  the  glass  grew  heavily  bedewed  by  moisture, 
condensed  from  their  breath. 

Oh  how  terribly  poor  Marian's  accent  and  manner  jarred 
him  after  these  two  months  of  absence ! 

In  the  house  that  evening  they  left  the  doors  open  again 
and  again,  of  habit,  and  the  draughts  and  chilliness,  added 


THE    BORN    FOOL  395 

'to  his  mental  distaste  and  trouble,  made  his  uncontrollably 
irritable. 

After  once  more  asking  for  a  door  to  be  closed — left  open 
this  time  by  Marian  in  her  pre-occupation — Kirk  went  and 
put  on  his  great  coat. 

"If  you  really  want  me  to  live,  you  must  help  me  to  keep 
warm.  I  can  feel  the  shape  of  my  wretched  lungs  inside, 
and  if  I  get  cold  again  I  shall  have  a  relapse.  I  feel  cold  to 
my  bones." 

"Oh,  Kirk,  dear,"  said  Marian,  "I'm  so  sorry,  do  you  think 
you've  come  back  too  soon  ?  It's  so  cold  here." 


CHAPTEK  L 

WHEN  Kirk  lay  ill  at  Chunaldale  Mr.  Bendigo  had 
written  very  kindly  telling  him  to  feel  no  anxiety 
and  take  no  thought  of  his  work.  His  salary  would  continue, 
and  until  the  doctor  thought  fit  he  must  not  return  to  duty. 
Brough  thoughtfully  had  visited  Kirk  to  see  that  he  was  well 
cared  for,  and  to  confirm  Mr.  Bendigo's  orders. 

But  Kirk  now  judged  that  three  months  of  inaction, 
coupled  with  the  bad  effect  of  his  engagement,  must  assuredly 
prevent  for  a  long  time  any  increase  of  salary.  Should  he 
remain  with  Mr.  Bendigo,  at  least  a  year  must  pass  before  he 
could  expect  better  pay.  Thus  a  year  would  pass  before  he 
could  keep  himself  and  Marian. 

Early  in  March  Wilkinson  told  Kirk  of  an  appointment : 
an  assistant  engineer  was  required  by  a  civil  engineer  at 
Holmroyd.  This  place,  one  of  the  large  woollen  towns  of 
Yorkshire,  was  distant  from  Bruside  only  some  ten  miles 
north  across  the  moors,  but  by  rail  it  was  thirty  miles. 

Wilkinson  showed  Kirk  the  letter  written  to  him  by  Gif- 
ford,  the  engineer  in  question.  Gifford  asked  Wilkinson  if 
he  knew  of  a  likely  man  suitable  for  the  berth.  He  would 
prefer  a  young  assistant  possessing  some  practical  experience 
in  waterworks.  Salary  to  commence  with  would  be  at  the  rate 
of  say  two  guineas  per  week.  For  a  good  candidate,  the  post 
would  be  a  permanency,  for  Gifford  had  years  of  work  booked 
ahead.  He  hoped  Wilkinson  was  doing  well,  and  was  in  good 
health. 

"It's  not  much  to  start  with,"  said  Wilkinson,  "but  he'd 
soon  raise  you,  say  in  six  months,  if  you  do  as  well  as  you've 
done  for  Bendigo. 

396 


THE    BOKN    FOOL  397 

"He  treats  his  men  well.  I  was  with  him  for  three  years, 
myself,  on  the  Swale  Valley  works.  He's  a  coming  man.  I 
believe  you  would  do  well  with  him.  But  don't  let  me  per- 
suade you,  Mr.  Clinton.  You  must  decide  for  yourself. 

"But  if  I  write  to  him  about  you  I  think  the  berth's  yours. 
You,  of  course,  must  refer  him  to  Mr.  Bendigo,  as  well.  He'll 
want  that — sure  to  want  to  know  all  about  you." 

"Oh !  that's  rather  awkward/'  said  Kirk.  "I  forgot  to  tell 
you — Brough  wrote  me  this  morning  that  Mr.  Bendigo  is 
very  ill.  He  was  taken  ill  quite  suddenly  last  week,  a  slight 
stroke,  rather  serious  Brough  seems  to  think  it." 

"Indeed?  Well!  I'm  very  sorry  indeed  to  hear  that! 
very  sorry !  .  .  .  What  would  be  your  position,  Mr.  Clinton, 
if  he  died?  What  if  the  nephews  wanted  the  brass,  the 
capital  ?  Brough's  only  a  fifth  share,  he  told  me.  The  two 
nephews  might  break  the  firm  up.  There  are  no  public  share- 
holders, I  think." 

"No.  I  understand  it  to  be  a  simple  partnership,  between 
the  old  man,  his  nephews  and  Brough ;  and  the  nephews,  as 
you  know,  don't  get  on  over  well  with  Brough.  .  .  ." 

"Ah  .  .  .  well;  think  it  over;  make  your  mind  up,  and 
I'll  see  you  this  afternoon.  I  must  write  by  return,  you  see, 
or  you  might  miss  it,  that  is,  if  you  want  it." 

"Thank  you  very  much,  Mr.  Wilkinson,  it's  most  kind  of 

you." 

"Nay !  There's  no  thanks  needed.  I'd  not  be  sure  I'd 
done  the  best  by  you,  Mr.  Clinton,  if  you  did  take  this  bil- 
let. You  must  make  your  own  decision.  Who  is  it  I'll 
quote  ? — 'It's  a  dark  business  to  meddle  with  another's  fate' 
— or  something  like  that." 

Kirk  determined  to  make  the  move.  From  what  Brough 
had  told  him  he  thought  Mr.  Bendigo  would,  of  purpose, 
withhold  a  better  salary,  and  he  judged  that  he  had  fallen 
very  considerably  in  the  old  man's  esteem.  Then,  also,  if 
he  were  aiming  to  become  a  fully  qualified  civil  engineer,  he 


398  THE    BORN    FOOL 

had  by  now  spent  quite  enough  time  with  a  contractor,  and 
should  try  to  join  the  staff  of  some  well-known  civil  engineer 
— a  member  of  the  Institute.  Gifford  was  just  such  a  man. 
With  Gifford  Kirk  might  certainly  expect  more  leisure.  The 
hours  would  be  from  nine  to  five.  He  would  have  time,  and 
would  in  fact  even  be  encouraged,  to  prepare  for  and  pass  the 
"Associate"  examination. 

Then,  too,  he  had  no  wish  to  live  in  the  South  until 
Marian  was  educated.  He  had  full  faith  that  Marian  under 
his  own  loving  tuition  would  earnestly  work,  read,  study, 
and  correct  her  manners  and  pronunciation,  once  she  left  Bru- 
side  and  lived  with  himself.  Patiently  and  gently  he  would 
teach  her. 

Sooner  than  expected,  Clinton  was  sent  for  by  Mr.  Gifford. 
Mr.  Gifford — a  large,  well-built  ruddy  man  of  forty-five — • 
smiled  frankly,  laid  a  pen  down,  and  spoke  very  quickly,  with 
a  good  accent. 

"Well,  Clinton,  you  want  to  join  me?" 

"Yes,"  said  Kirk,  also  smiling.  "If  you  will  but  make  it 
worth  while." 

Gifford  laughed  cheerfully,  and  sought  on  the  table  for  a 
paper.  "Oh!  I  see!  I  said  a  hundred  and  four  per  an- 
num. .  .  . 

"Weil,  Clinton,  you're  very  young,  and  I  have  six  other 
young  men  up  and  down  the  country.  But  I  want  you  here. 
I  must  treat  all  fairly  .  .  .  let-me-see !  .  .  .  I  must  aak  you 
a  question  or  two.  What-the-devil-am-I-to-ask-you  ?" 

While  he  spoke  he  had  eyed  Kirk's  pale  face  and  thin  form. 

"Ah !  Now  suppose  I  put  you  in  charge  of  a  rather  bad 
contractor?  and  he  dumped  a  lot  of  dirty  sand  on  the  con- 
crete bunkers  and  began  to  mix  it  in,  what-would-you-do  ?" 

"First  curse  a  moment,  I  suppose.  Then  order  absolute 
stoppage,  send  for  contractor's  man  in  charge,  and  for  Clerk 
of  Works.  Turn  two  cement  bags  inside  out,  bang  them,  fill 
them  in  their  presence  with  two  samples.  Order  the  stuff 
and  the  concrete  to  be  removed  forthwith  right  off  the  works. 


THE    BOKN    FOOL  399 

Either  myself  or  C.-of-W.  would  stand  there  to  see  it  done. 
If  they  were  not  brisk,  or  refused,  I  would  threaten  stoppage 
of  the  whole  works,  and  penalty  as  per  specifications.  Then, 
of  course,  I  would  write  contractor,  ordering  removal  of 
ganger,  and  stating  further  that  any  repetition  would  mean 
dismissal  of  his  agent  for  the  work.  I  would  send  you  a  copy, 
with  report,  and  one  sample." 

"You  didn't  meet  the  other  candidate?"  said  Gilford, 
laughing.  "Did  you,  Clinton  ?" 

"]STo,  Sir,"  said  Kirk,  laughing  in  sympathy  with  Mr.  Gif- 
ford's  twinkling  eyes. 

"He  said  he  would  come  and  report  to  me  at  once  what 
they  were  up  to ! — a  nice  boy,  but  evidently  quite  without  ex- 
perience." 

A  whistle  blew  and  Gifford  grabbed  a  speaking  tube  and 
listened — 

"WHAT  !  .  .  .  WAIT-A-MINTTTE  !"  and  with  eyes  twinkling 
— his  hand  over  the  tube — he  turned  to  Kirk — 

"Clinton  !  that  contractor ! — that-very-rascal-is-here ! — 
damn  him !"  Then  Gifford  bawled  through  the  tube : — 

"Wants-to-see-me-does-he-indeed  ?  .  .  .  OH  !  IT'S  YOURSELF, 
MR.  WRIGLEY,  is  IT  ?  ...  WELL  !  TAKE-A-SEAT  ! — AND-ANY- 

THING-ELSE-YOU-CAN-LAY-YOUR-HANDS-ON  !    !" 

Kirk  laughed  heartily,  and  Gifford  smiling  keenly  said, 
"How's  your  health,  Clinton  ?" 

"Oh!  .  .  .  been  ill?  What?  Last  winter  at  Chunaldale ? 
Beastly  place.  There's  only  one  county  in  the  country  fit  to 
work  in,  and  that's  Yorkshire  !" 

"You  are  not  north-country,  are  you,  sir?" 

"I  am.  Went  to  Cambridge.  Got  my  degree.  Nearly 
killed  me,  the  heat,  mugginess,  flatness.  I  learnt  little  enough 
engineering,  in  fact  nothing !" 

"But  English?" 

"Quite  right !  quite  right !"  laughed  Gifford — "They  polish 


400  THE    BORN    FOOL 

us.  But  about  salary.  If  you  satisfy  me,  you  shall  have  more 
in  nine  months — that's-not-long  ?" 

"Very  well.    Thank  you,  Sir." 

"By-the-bye,  you  better  keep  this — well  worth  keeping 

"  Gifford  sought  among  the  many  papers  ranged  in  front 

of  him.  "There — read  it !"  He  grasped  the  tube  and  shouted 
—"Send  Wrigley  in !" 

Kirk  took  the  letter,  and,  in  the  familiar  handwriting,  but 
gone  noticeably  shaky,  he  read  as  follows : — 

"London,  May  5th,  19—. 
"DEAR  SIR, 

"Mr.  K.  Clinton  has  been  in  my  service  as  a  resident  engineer 
in  charge  of  important  public  works  since  April  — ,  19 — .  He  is 
a  young  engineer  who  possesses  well  above  the  average  in  skill, 
ingenuity,  and  tact.  His  methods  are  sound,  and  have  repeatedly 
been  justified  by  the  event.  He  is  reliable,  a  hard  worker,  and 
thoroughly  trustworthy.  In  the  present  state  of  my  health  I  give 
him  this  testimonial  as  a  duty  that  I  owe  to  him  for  his  faithful 
services,  which  I  should  be  sorry  to  lose. 

"JAMES  BEXDIGO, 
"for  James  Bendigo,  Ltd. 
"K.  Gifford,  Esq.,  M.A.,  M.Inst.C.E., 
"Bank  Chambers, 
"Holmroyd." 

The  respectful,  warm  and  grateful  feeling  that  he  had 
formerly  held  towards  Mr.  Bendigo  strongly  rushed  over 
him.  He  turned  mechanically  to  the  door,  opened  for 
.Wrigley. 

"Good-bye,  Clinton !"  cried  Gifford,  and  grasped  his  hand. 
"Then  you'll  be  here-in-a-month  ?" 

"Yes." 

Regret,  at  parting  from  Mr.  Bendigo  and  Brough,  tem- 
pered his  success.  He  had  not  imagined  Mr.  Bendigo  so 
generous,  so  unselfish,  as  to  write  Gifford  such  a  letter.  Never- 
theless, Kirk  left  the  heavy  portico  and  came  into  the  smoky 
sunshine  with  a  lighter  heart  than  he  had  known  for  months* 
He  sent  a  telegram  to  Marian,  telling  her  of  his  success. 


THE    BORN    FOOL  401 

He  could,  he  believed,  save  eighteen  shillings  a  week  out  of 
two  guineas,  and  in  six  months  perhaps  they  could  marry. 
At  the  present  moment  he  had  only  ten  pounds  in  the  world. 
He  had  just  paid  the  doctor's  bill,  received  from  Chunal  a 
few  days  ago. 

On  arriving  at  Bruside  he  received  a  letter  from  Mr.  Ben- 
digo,  in  which  he  was  informed  very  briefly  that  from  the 
first  of  the  next  month  his  salary  would  rate  at  £110  per 
annum.  But  this  offer  had  arrived  too  late.  Kirk  showed 
Marian  the  letter  and  she  advised  him  to  remain  with  Mr. 
Bendigo,  for  then — thought  she — he  would  not  go  away  from 
her.  But  Kirk  pointed  out  the  precarious  state  of  the  old 
man's  health,  and,  what  was  more  important,  his  own  po- 
sition as  a  civil  engineer. 

"Besides,  Marian,  it  is  settled,  as  I  gave  Gifford  my  word. 
I  like  him,  and  my  mind  is  made  up." 

In  April  Kirk  commenced  his  new  duties.  He  found  Holm- 
royd  was  a  town,  hideous,  squalid,  sordid.  The  streets  were 
tortuous,  narrow,  hilly,  noisy,  and  were  paved  throughout 
with  rough  stone  setts.  On  dry  days  when  the  wind  blew,  the 
air  filled  with  clouds  of  noxious  dust,  which  was  full  of  dry 
soot,  grit,  and  pulverised  horse-dung.  The  frequent  damp 
weather  caused  a  black  and  sooty  mud  to  coat  all  underfoot, 
often  many  times  in  a  week ;  and  when  dry  the  pavements 
were  disgusting,  for  half  the  people  seemed  afflicted  with  ca- 
tarrh, with  bronchial  trouble,  or  consumption.  Kirk  realised 
it  was  a  bad  place  for  health,  especially  for  one  still  recover- 
ing from  pneumonia.  Everywhere  among  the  monotonous 
and  grimy  houses  stood  mills,  factories,  bleach-works,  iron- 
works, dye-works,  fell-mongeries  and  the  like.  A  large  river 
made  its  walled  and  confined  way  through  the  centre  of  these 
congeries  of  black  buildings.  Highly  polluted,  the  river  ex- 
haled by  night  and  day  a  warm  and  sickly  smell,  offensive  as 
the  steam  from  a  sour  and  greasy  dish-cloth.  The  death  rate 
was  very  high.  There  were  no  clean  open  suburbs ;  the  houses 
and  mills  thinned  out  gradually  among  miles  of  desolated 


402  THE    BORN    FOOL 

fields,  black-walled  and  studded  with  deserted  buildings, 
brickworks,  small  collieries,  and  those  horrible  little  villages 
built  round  old-fashioned  mills — around  old  works  that  still 
made  coarse  cloth  or  bad  blankets  and  used  the  local  water- 
power.  On  the  first  Sunday  Kirk  walked  out  into  the  hilly 
sodden  pastures,  all  blackened  by  smoke,  and  found  they  were 
manured  with  human  excrement.  He  longed  for  the  purer 
air  and  the  elevation  of  Bruside.  Southward  where  the  smoke 
allowed,  he  could  see  the  moorlands ;  and  he  knew  that  those 
low  bleak  hills  and  plateaus  effectively  divided  this  eczema 
of  trade  from  Marian's  birthplace. 

Kirk  spent  the  next  few  days  at  Bruside.  That  little  town 
seemed  sweet  now,  and  he  quite  looked  forward  to  his  future 
visits. 

But  he  found  these  weekly  trips  cost  more  money  than 
could  be  spared.  He  would  only  visit  Bruside  on  his  old 
terms  of  board,  and  to  this  was  added  the  rent  of  his  rooms 
at  Holmroyd.  The  loss,  with  fares,  was  too  considerable. 
To  save  the  railway  fare  he  walked  several  times  over  the 
moors — ten  miles,  beginning  with  a  steep  four-mile  hill.  But 
he  found  it  too  exhausting  in  his  weak  state  of  health,  and  he 
promised  Marian  he  would  not  repeat  this  long  walk  until  he 
had  regained  his  strength.  His  lack  of  complete  recovery 
was  very  patent  to  every  one  who  knew  him. 

After  a  visit  in  May,  he  wrote  to  Marian  telling  her  they 
must  be  content  to  see  each  other  once  every  three  weeks, 
so  vital  was  it  to  save  money. 

In  the  Gisburn-Butterworth  household  things  were  not  go- 
ing smoothly.  Bruside  folk  hinted  that  Marian  would  not 
see  much  more  of  Mr.  Clinton.  They  said  he  came  less  fre- 
quently because  he  was  cooling-off.  Dinah  was  the  recipient 
of  this  rumour  and  she  brought  it  home.  Marian,  who  lis- 
tened, set  her  face  and  replied : 


THE    BOR^    FOOL  403 

"You  don't  know  nothing  about  him,  Dinah,  and  never 
dare  come  again  telling  me  your  nasty  stories.  ...  !" 

But  she  was  troubled.  Her  health,  only  in  part  recovered, 
once  more  showed  symptoms  of  decline,  and  the  hot  weather 
had  again  arrived.  She  had  asked  her  mother  for  something 
from  her  wages — to  save  towards  marriage — but  this  Dinah 
fiercely  resented,  and  between  the  sisters  enmity  increased. 

Kirk  on  his  next  visit  to  Bruside  was  alarmed  to  find 
Marian  at  home,  unable  to  work.  She  had  met  him  at  the 
station,  and  had  leaned  more  and  more  upon  his  arm  as  they 
slowly  walked  towards  the  house  up  the  interminable  hill.  So 
exhausted  was  Marian,  by  weakness,  and  by  present  pain 
which  increased,  that  Kirk  made  her  sit  down  and  rest  on  the 
low  places  where  the  upper  part  of  the  stone  walls  had  fallen 
away.  Tenderness  and  pity  filled  him  as  he  noticed  her  face, 
and  that  she  walked  with  a  painful  stoop.  The  pain  in  her 
back,  and  the  short  cough  that  came  on  with  exertion,  gave 
him  much  apprehension.  She  was  visibly  thinner,  and  in 
her  weakness  she  appealed  most  strongly  to  his  manliness. 
But  mingled  with  his  apprehension  for  her  was  a  glow  of 
feeling  that  made  him  happy,  and  astonished.  He  ejacu- 
lated to  himself,  "Good  God! — as  though  I  could  ever  pos- 
sibly have  deserted  her !"  He  held  her  arm  warmly  against 
himself,  and  spoke  tenderly  to  her.  On  reaching  home,  her 
real  weakness  and  illness  were  so  obvious  as  to  awake  the 
concern  and  sympathy  of  her  family.  Ruth,  although  she 
loathed  the  life,  volunteered  to  go  to  mill  for  two  weeks. 

Marian  felt  sure  she  would  be  better  in  a  fortnight.  It 
was  the  ceaseless  standing  and  stooping  and  the  heat  that 
had  made  her  poorly,  said  she,  but  now  she  would  be  able 
to  sit  nearly  all  day.  And  then,  too,  Jim  was  very  kind. 
He  offered  to  get  up  before  the  others  and  make  early  break- 
fast, and  thus  give  Marian  a  long  rest  each  morning ;  for  by 
established  and  accepted  custom  whoever  stayed  at  home  must 
rise  first. 


404:  THE    BOEJST    FOOL 

Near  the  end  of  the  fortnight  Jim,  by  previous  request  of 
Kirk,  sent  a  note.  He  stated  that  his  sister  was  neither  worse 
nor  better.  Kirk  obtained  leave  of  absence  for  the  Saturday, 
and  went  to  Bruside  on  Friday  evening.  Next  morning  he 
took  Marian  by  train  to  Leeds,  there  to  see  a  gynecologist  of 
repute. 

When  the  elderly  nurse  returned  with  Marian  to  the  wait- 
ing room,  Kirk  asked  her, 

"May  I  have  a  word  with  the  doctor  ?" 

"Certainly,    Follow  me." 

Kirk  spoke  to  the  small  sharp  man* 

"My  name's  Clinton.  I'm  engaged  to  Miss  Butterworth. 
She  works  for  her  living.  She  is  over-worked,  it  seems  to  me. 
But  what  really  is  the  matter  with  her,  doctor  ?" 

"Well,  she's  very  anemic,  Mr.  Clinton,  although  she  looks 
moderately  well  .  .  .  her  heart  is  not  at  all  right, — no 
disease,  yet,  I  think,  but  it  might  come  on.  .  .  .  She  should 
have  absolute  rest  and  change  for  quite  six  months.  She's 
not  at  all  fit  to  be  married,  Mr.  Clinton,  in  my  opinion,  just 
yet.  A  bracing  seaside  place  would  do  her  a  world  of  good. 
The  pain  in  her  back  is  due  indirectly  to  standing,  it  is  caused 
by  something  else.  It  is  rather  serious.  Until  that  is  cured 
• — it  will  be  by  rest — she  should  not  marry.  I  must  tell  you 
this:  that  in  her  present  state  it  might  kill  her  to  have  a 
child.  She  must  lie  down  for  hours  every  day,  and  for  some 
months  take  life  very  easily.  That's  imperative.  Medicine 
is  of  no  use.  I  have  told  her  the  same." 

These  statements  filled  Kirk  with  trouble.  Money  was  the 
immediate  difficulty.  This  quite  upset  his  recent  decision  to 
marry  quietly,  at  once,  and  take  rooms  for  a  time.  .  .  .  But 
to  live  apart  .  .  .  where  could  they  find  the  money  ? 

He  stood  in  silence  for  a  few  moments,  then  thanked  the 
doctor,  paid  the  fee,  and  returned  to  Marian.  When  outside 
he  spoke  to  her. 


THE    BORN    FOOL  405 

"Now,  dear,  you'll  have  to  go  to  the  seaside.  He  says  it 
might  kill  you  if  you  married  me  now." 

"Oh  .  .  .  Kirk  ...  I  can't  bear  to  go  away  by  meself, — 
and  look  what  it  would  cost !  We  haven't  the  money !" 

"It  has  to  be  done  somehow,  dear."  He  was  thinking  he 
might  borrow  money  from  Brough,  after  telling  him  every- 
thing needful. 

"I  suppose  the  doctor  told  you  ?" 

".  .  .  Yes,  I'd  told  him  we  were  going  to  be  married." 

"How  much  could  you  live  on,  dear,  at  Scarborough  ?" 

Such  a  project  seemed  wonderful  to  Marian,  and  as  they 
went  along  she  thought  hard. 

"Ten  shillings  for  my  room  now  and  eight  when  the  sea- 
son's over,  and  seven  shillings  for  food.  It  would  cost  seven- 
teen or  eighteen  shillings,  Kirk  .  .  .  and  I've  got  enough 
clothes  for  some  time  .  .  .  But  I  couldn't  bear  it,  to  be  all 
that  way  off  ...  and  you  look  so  poorly  yourself,  Kirk." 

"Why!  then  we  can  do  it,  dear!"  cried  Kirk,  quite  re- 
lieved. "I  can  live  easily  on  a  pound !  It's  going  to  be  done ! 
so  you  need  say  no  more !" 

"Oh,  Kirk,  it  is  good  of  you !"  she  squeezed  his  arm. 

"No,  no,  it  isn't,  dear ;  it's  just  our  bad  luck ;  you  would  do 
it  just  the  same  for  me,  I  know,  if  you  could,  if  it  had  arisen. 
Besides  it  will  make  me  happy  to  know  you  are  away  from 
that  place  for  ever  and  no  longer  suffering." 

She  squeezed  his  arm,  very  happy  that  he  so  loved  her. 
She  spoke  hopefully. 

"Then  when  I'm  better  we'll  be  married!  and  live  in 
rooms !  until  we  save  up  enough  for  our  own  home,  Kirk." 

A  fortnight  later  Kirk  saw  Marian  off. 

She  had  been  better,  but  now  was  much  worse,  for  she 
had  let  herself  be  stung  by  Dinah  into  another  week's  work 
at  the  mill. 

Kirk  with  much  concern  saw  her  leave,  for  she  could  walk 
but  slowly,  and  leaned  forward  with  an  anxious  look  upon 
her  face.  To  save  expense  he  did  not  go  with  her,  but  she 


406  THE    BOKN    FOOL 

knew  some  one  at  Scarborough,  who  kept  a  boarding-house, 
and  they  expected  her.  She  greatly  felt  this  parting  from 
her  home,  and  at  the  moment  of  leaving  she  quite  forgot  the 
unpleasantness  of  the  past  week,  when  Mrs.  Gisburn  and  her 
sisters  had  cried  shame  on  her  for  going  away  at  Kirk's  ex- 
pense. That  which  troubled  them  so  much,  was  the  scandalous 
appearance  of  the  act.  Whatever  would  Bruside  say  ?  Every 
one  knew  they  were  not  rich,  enough  to  keep  her  at  the  seaside 
— so  said  Dinah — Besides,  how  could  she — for  shame! — go 
away  at  the  expense  of  a  young  man  to  whom  she  was  not 
married!  But  Marian,  strengthened  by  peremptory  letters 
from  Kirk,  declared  that  no  one  really  knew  whether  they 
were  well-to-do  or  poor.  She  pointed  out  that  no  one  but 
themselves  knew  Kirk  was  to  pay  for  her ;  so  Dinah — finding 
Marian  no  longer  to  be  moved  by  arguments — with  an  air  of 
pride  quickly  told  inquirers  that  her  step-mother  under  a 
specialist's  order  had  decided  to  send  Marian  away  for  a  M&g 
rest.  She  was  careful  for  the  sake  of  appearance  to  accom- 
pany Marian,  with  Kirk,  to  the  station.  She  made  Jim  also 
be  there.  He  said  an  affectionate  good-bye  to  his  sister,  who 
wept;  but  Dinah's  last  words  to  Marian  were  full  of  an 
asperity  that  made  him  laugh. 

"Crying !  You !  why  you're  a  lucky  thing !  with  your  great 
round  red  face !" 

Kirk,  seeing  Marian's  trunk  safely  in  the  van,  heard  noth- 
ing cf  this. 

He  returned  to  Holmroyd.  He  could  himself  have  well 
done  with  a  summer  holiday.  As  he  walked  from  the  station 
how  specially  disgusting  seemed  this  place.  His  gaze  fell  on 
the  grease-covered  setts  where  the  steam  trams  waited  be- 
tween their  uncouth  and  lumbering  journeys.  How  he  hated 
this  smell  of  dye,  this  dust  of  dried  dung  that  drifted  along 
the  pavements  and  collected  in  the  stone  gutters,  that  blew 
up  in  the  hot  and  cold  air  and  filled  the  eyes  and  nostrils. 
And  to-day  the  attenuated  river  was  all  sickly  pink,  and 
steamed ;  the  dull  and  smoky  sunshine  rested  on  drying  banks 


THE   BORN   FOOL  407 

of  foetid  river-slime.  The  streets  were  full  of  be-shawled 
women  and  pale  greasy  men,  all  hastening  back  to  work ;  and 
the  noises  of  mill-sirens,  of  clogs,  of  harsh  accents,  and  of 
massive  horses  drawing  lorries  through  the  tortuous  iron 
streets,  dinned  in  his  ears. 

Marian,  never  before  so  completely  separated  from  her 
relatives,  suffered  a  childish  but  trying  loneliness.  After  a 
few  weeks  she  wrote  to  Kirk  that  she  could  not  much  longer 
bear  to  be  away.  She  had  evaded  his  constant  questions  about 
her  health.  Nearly  every  day  he  wrote  to  her  in  order  to  keep 
her  spirits  up,  and  make  her  feel  she  was  in  close  touch  with 
him ;  but  she  yearned  to  come  back.  In  August,  after  anxious 
financial  considerations, — for  Marian  found  she  could  not 
live  on  less  than  twenty-four  shillings  a  week — Kirk  deter- 
mined that  a  visit  from  himself  would  make  her  more  con- 
tent. So  he  obtained  leave  for  a  week-end,  and  arrived  at 
Scarborough  late  on  Friday  night.  This  seemed  to  revive 
Marian  more  than  all  her  month's  stay,  but  she  was  la- 
mentably weak,  and  to  Kirk  she  looked  more  delicate  than 
before  she  went  away.  Yet  this  delicacy  of  her  body  was 
strangely  helpful  to  Kirk,  for  the  girl  was  subdued,  far 
more  gentle,  more  refined  physically  and  mentally,  than  she 
had  ever  before  been  to  him.  His  first  love  seemed  genuinely 
and  spontaneously  to  return,  like  the  last  tender  days  of  sun- 
shine before  winter. 

During  this  brief  visit  he  was  everything  to  her  that  any 
girl  could  wish.  He  had  forbidden  her  to  see  him  off  on  the 
Monday  morning,  for  he  had  to  leave  at  half-past  five.  He 
kissed  her  good-bye,  and  good-night,  and  she  promised  to  be 
brave,  and  remain  at  Scarborough.  But  she  arrived  at  the 
station  early  next  morning  in  good  time  to  see  him  off.  He 
thought  it  touching  unselfishness.  There  was  scarcely  a  soul 
about,  so  he  put  his  arms  round  her  and  kissed  her  good- 
bye. As  he  leaned  out  of  the  window  he  waved  his  handker- 
chief until  her  face,  smiling  through  her  tears,  became  indis- 
tinguishable. 


CHAPTER  LI 

ARCHDEACON  ROKEBY  was  the  Vicar  of  Holmroyd. 
His  opinion  of  this  great  town  coincided  with  Kirk's, 
but  more  complacently,  for  the  living  was  worth  well  over 
three  thousand  a  year.  He  was  a  markedly  cultured  man, 
he  had  been  head  master  of  Marlborough,  and  had  written 
several  books  on  geometry  and  conic  sections.  He  it  was  who 
delivered  those  original  and  celebrated  lectures  that  caused 
such  protest  among  the  low  Churchmen  but  so  refreshed  and 
reinvigorated  those  of  wider  mind — the  host  of  Christian 
people  who  long  had  been  troubled  by  the  problem  of  the 
gospel — those  who  had  asked  themselves  in  vain,  "How  could 
our  God  of  Love  exact  the  harrowing  sacrifice  of  the  Christ 
— His  own  Son — merely  to  appease  his  wrath  with  man? 
Merely  to  appease  His  irritable  revengeful  wrath  against  His 
own  creation! — A  creation  whose  past,  present,  and  future 
lay  always  open  and  before  Him !" 

Archdeacon  Rokeby  first  it  was  who  preached  the  new 
healing  and  so  clear  doctrine : — The  death  of  Christ  was  but 
an  incident ;  the  great  and  mighty  object  of  Christ  was  at-one- 
ment,  to  be  at  one  with  men,  to  give  them  for  ever  a  sublime 
example  of  how  human  fellow-men  should  live.  The  "atone- 
ment" was  a  false  word  directing  to  a  quite  wrong  idea,  one 
that  obscured  the  omnipotent  love  of  God.  Let  it  be  for- 
gotten. The  enemies  of  the  Church — declared  he — had  justly 
shown  the  incongruity  of  "atonement." 

"Meanwhile,  men  and  women,  nay!  even  children,"  said 
he,  "have  given  up  their  lives  unselfishly,  not  for  the  whole 
human  race,  but  for  even  a  single  fellow-being.  But  Christ 
alone  has  ever  given  such  sublime  precept  and  example." 

The  Archdeacon  was  powerful,  well-connected,  and  all 

408 


THE    BORN    FOOL  409 

knew  this  important  living  was  but  one  of  the  last  of  Ms  steps 
towards  a  bishopric.  His  traducers  had  not  prevailed  against 
him.  In  fine  measured  English  he  had  shown  them  how  false 
was  their  assertion  that  he  undermined  the  doctrine  of  the 
Eucharist. 

He  was  a  spare  tall  man  who  carried  himself  grandly,  and 
often  he  might  be  seen  walking  in  the  town,  dressed  in  the 
most  shabby  well-cut  garments  and  wearing  the  most  faded 
buttoned  leggings  that  Kirk  had  ever  seen,  most  especially 
on  the  legs  of  an  ecclesiastic.  But  his  hands  were  perfect, 
his  linen  spotless,  his  gaunt  face  well  shaven.  The  arch- 
deacon accepted  with  dignity  the  material  good  gift  of  God, 
his  three  thousand  four  hundred  a  year.  But  in  his  private 
bureau  was  a  scheme  already  agreed  upon  with  the  Charity 
Commissioners  that  would  divide  up  two-thirds  of  this  fat 
living  among  the  poor  curacies  of  the  district — after  he  him- 
self had  gona 

Kirk's  function  it  was  to  ravage  the  archdiaconal  garden, 
by  laying  through  it  three  parallel  lines  of  enormous  iron 
pipes;  for  no  other  route  would  serve,  and  Parliament  and 
the  archdeacon  had  given  sanction.  Here  one  morning  the 
noble-looking  spare  man  first  made  Kirk's  acquaintance.  He 
smiled  as  he  approached,  and  spoke  with  what  Kirk  thought 
the  most  beautiful  and  cultured  voice  of  man  that  he  had 
ever  heard.  Involuntarily  the  younger  man  raised  his  hat 
and  bowed.  The  archdeacon  offered  his  hand. 

"Ah  .  .  .  good-morning,  you  are  Mr.  .  .  .  ?" 

"Clinton — I'm  Mr.  Gifford's  new  engineer." 

"Indeed?  Indeed?  Then  you  take  Lorebum's  place? 
Did  you  know  him  ?" 

"No." 

"A  delightful  fellow !  a  charming  fellow !  We  were  truly 
sorry  when  he  left  us, — but  you  ?  Do  you  like  this  town  ?" 

"No.  I  think  it  horrible  .  .  .  But  your  garden  is  an 
oasis,  and  so  well  cared  for,  I  shall  see  that  the  least  possible 
disturbance  is  made." 


410  THE    BORN    FOOL 

"I  feel  sure  you  will:  I  am  prepared  for  it  now;  but  I 
must  show  you  a  few  things  I  had  arranged  with  Loreburn 
...  all  those  rose-trees — poor  things !  they  do  not  flourish 
in  this  air — we  thought  they  might  be  re-set  along  that  wall ; 
let  us  go  there." 

They  walked  across  the  wide  lawn. 

"It  looks  South  ...  as  I  think  we  do  ourselves,  some- 
times." 

"Yes,  I  do !"  responded  Kirk,  touched  and  delighted  by  the 
strange  remark. 

"What  school  were  you  at,  may  I  ask,  Mr.  Clinton  ?" 

"Severnly." 

"Oh!  Then  you  were  there  in  Warleigh's  time?  And 
then  you  went  to  Cambridge,  of  course,  being  an  engineer.  I 
myself  was  at  Oxford." 

"No,  I  was  less  fortunate — I  went  neither  to  Oxford  nor 
Cambridge." 

For  a  moment  surprise  filled  his  companion,  but  as  he 
looked  at  Kirk's  refined  face  he  put  aside  his  feeling  of  less 
warmth,  and  continued. 

"Then  at  Severnly  you  would  belong  to  the  modern  side  ?" 

"No,  it  had  not  been  introduced  then.  I  did  Latin,  thank 
goodness." 

"Ah !  you  read  ?  You  love  your  books  ?"  Rokeby  stopped 
and  gently  put  his  hand  on  Kirk's  arm.  "Do  you  know, 
you  remind  me  very  much,  so  very  much,  of  some  one  .  .  . 
I  cannot  think  who  .  .  ."  finished  he,  dreamily,  and  walked 
the  young  man  on  towards  a  large  greenhouse.  "And  no 
mathematics  at  Severnly  ?" 

"Oh,  just  the  usual  veneer !"  said  Kirk,  laughing  a  little. 

"And  whose  geometry  did  they  inflict  on  you  ?" 

"I  think  it  was  old  Todhunter." 

"Ah  .  .  .  ah,  a  very,  very  extraordinary  chaos — to  my 
mind.  I  must  give  you  one  of  my  'Geometria.'  Loreburn 
told  me  it  was  most  helpful  to  him." 

"What !  have  you  written  a  geometry,  Sir  ?" 


THE   BOKK   FOOL  411 

"I  have  written  three,  but,  really,  homo  unius  libri." 

"Thank  you,  I  should  much  like  your  work." 

"Nothing!  nothing!  labor  ipse  .  .  .  you  remember?" 

'Kirk  had  long  forgotten.    He  did  not  reply. 

".  .  .  When  passing  the  greenhouses,  I  want  you  to  exer- 
cise care  in  going  beneath  the  hot  water  pipes.  I  put  them 
down  a  year  ago — that  is  their  line,  they  are  some  three  feet 
deep,  enshrined  in  a  timber  trough  and  saw-dust.  They  come 
right  across  from  the  kitchen.  My  last  under-gardener  let 
the  fire  go  out,  upon  a  frosty  night — and  I  lost  many  precious 
orchids  .  .  .  hence  this  more  stable  means  of  heating  .  .  . 
Do  you  like  flowers  ?  .  .  .  Then  come  in !" 

Kirk,  bending  over  a  large  pot  of  heliotrope,  exclaimed — 

"Oh !    How  delicious !" 

The  tall  ecclesiastic  took  a  pair  of  rusty  scissors  and  sev- 
ered him  a  spray;  while  Kirk  thought  with  happiness,  "I'll 
send  this  to  Marian." 

"Of  course  you  are  a  Churchman  ?" 

"...  I  go  to  Church  of  England,  sometimes,  but  my 
people  are  what  I  suppose  you  .  .  .  you  would  call  Irving- 
ites.  I  am  not  anything  very  decidedly.  ...  I  am  unable  to 
believe  in  many  things.  I  am  agnostic." 

"You  are  troubled  by  science  of  to-day  ?  A  phase !  it  will 
pass !  I  myself  was  not  ordained  until  forty  years  of  age. 
I  too  had  doubts.  You  must  come  and  hear  me  next  Sunday 
evening,  I  may  be  able  to  help  you.  I  preach  that  evening 
upon  the  Flood.  Do  you  know  any  one  here?  No?  .  .  . 
Yes,  there  are  few  people  here  who,  I  think,  would  be  har- 
monious with  you,  .  .  .  few  that  one  cares  .  .  .  ah,  to  be 
intimate  with.  Perhaps  you  will  come  in  to  supper  Sunday  ? 
and  meet  my  wife  ?" 

"Thank  you.     I  shall  come  with  pleasure." 

They  went  outside  into  the  cold-seeming  air,  and  there  met 
an  old  thick-bodied  man,  the  verger.  Among  many  duties  he 
transcribed  music  for  the  organist,  and  also  he  firmly  con- 
trolled the  under-gardener  at  the  vicarage.  He  had  listened 


412  THE    BORN    FOOL 

to  many  vicars,  and  to  some  peculiar  extent  he  had  acquired 
their  vocabularies,  but  not  their  accent. 

"Good-morning,  Mesther  Clenton,  arv  joost  been  lukeing 
ower  t'warl  meself !" 

They  all  three  looked  over,  to  where  Kirk's  men  were 
wheeling  earth  up  a  very  inclined  plank-way. 

"Me  hey!"  exclaimed  the  verger,  impressively.  "Yon's  a 
steep  graduate  ye've  got  yon,  Mesther  Clenton !" 

Kirk  and  the  archdeacon  laughed  and  withdrew. 

"I  would  not  correct  him  for  the  world.  He  is  a  source  of 
infinite  joy  to  my  wife,  who  employs  him  multifariously, — 
graduate  indeed !  a  steep  graduate !" 

On  the  Sunday  evening  Kirk  was  received  graciously  by 
Mrs.  Rokeby.  He  enjoyed  himself  in  the  large  dark  room, 
lighted  only  by  an  old  seven-branch  silver  candlestick,  one 
like  those  in  pictures  of  the  temple  at  Jerusalem.  Kirk  had 
been  introduced  to  a  curate,  and  to  the  Rokebys'  niece  and 
nephew  who  were  on  a  visit.  The  very  small  boy  was  rosy- 
cheeked  and  had  blue  eyes  full  of  mischief.  His  sister  was 
the  daintiest  dark-eyed  little  creature,  in  very  short  skirts. 
Kirk  quickly  made  friends  with  these  children,  and  they 
were  talking  both  at  once  to  him  when  supper  was  announced. 
It  seemed  they  stayed  up  to  supper  on  Sundays.  Kirk 
stooped  slightly  and  offered  his  arm  to  the  little  girl,  and 
she  took  it  with  a  great  air,  then  danced  two  or  three  steps 
and  shook  her  dark  curls,  as  they  advanced.  Then  she  was 
staid  again,  looked  up  in  his  face  and  said  with  extreme 
gravity, 

"Don't  you  think  the  archdeacon  is  a  dear?" 
Kirk  laughed  very  much,  and  she  laughed  as  well.     She 
sat  upon  his  right,  and  the  small  boy  took  position  on  his 
left. 

"Oh !"  said  Mrs.  Rokeby,  "this  is  your  place,  Mr.  Clinton !" 

"But  Mr.  Clinton  brought  me  in,  Auntie." 

"May  I  please  stay  here  ?"  asked  Kirk,  much  amused ;  and 


THE    BORN"    FOOL  413 

he  remained  between  the  children.  He  perceived  they  had 
power  over  these  childless  ones. 

The  old  silver  and  the  flowers  pleased  the  eyes  of  Kirk. 
The  silver  candlesticks,  seven-armed,  provided  light. 

Presently  the  two  children  laughed  so  much  that  Mrs. 
Rokeby  gently  reproved  them,  and  smiled  at  Kirk. 

The  little  girl  heaved  a  sigh,  made  an  adult  despairing  ges- 
ture, very  funny,  and  panted, 

"What  can  I  do,  Auntie!  when  he  will  say  it's  a  'goly 
stingle-tack !'  "  And  the  curate  almost  choked  himself,  cough- 
ing till  red  in  the  face. 

"I  am  afraid  I  am  somewhat  to  blame,"  said  Kirk,  grin- 
ning whimsically. 

After  supper  the  children  went  to  bed  and  the  elders  sat 
round  the  drawing-room  fire,  for  even  in  July  Holmroyd  is  a 
chilly  place  at  night. 

Kirk  evaded  skilfully  his  own  history,  nor  was  he  more 
than  lightly  questioned.  He  told  Mrs.  Rokeby  of  Cirenhamp- 
ton  and  the  Lucys,  and  they  talked  much  of  books.  On  this 
latter  subject  she  drew  him  out.  The  archdeacon  conversed 
ostensibly  with  his  curate,  but  listened  mostly  to  his  wife 
and  Kirk. 

Kirk  had  the  good  sense  at  ten  o'clock  to  bring  the  conversa- 
tion to  an  end,  while  at  its  best;  and  Mrs.  Rokeby  told  him 
at  parting, — 

"You  must  come  again,  Mr.  Clinton ;  we  are  so  pleased  to 
have  made  your  acquaintance ;  it  will  be  the  only  nice  thing 
resulting  from  the  dreadful  mess  you  intend  making  in  our 
poor  garden!" 

"My  dear,"  said  she,  when  Kirk  and  the  curate  had  gone, 
"he  will  be  quite  an  acquisition,  quite  a  different  tempera- 
ment from  Mr.  Loreburn's,  so  reserved  and  shy,  but  not  a 
bit  gauche.  I  am  quite  sure  he  is  the  son  of  some  very  nice 
woman ;  he  will  tell  us  all  about  himself  later,  and,  did  I  tell 
you  ?  I  did  draw  him  out  a  little !  he  is  the  youngest  Fellow 
of  the  Geological  Institute,  and  is  writing  a  thesis !" 


414  THE    BORN   FOOL 

"Emma!  How  you  do  chatter!  No  wonder  the  young 
man  felt  shy,  as  you  say, — but  yes;  I  did  think,  dear,  you 
would  like  him.  He  is  modest,  very  well-read  for  his  years, 
and  is  fond  of  flowers,  and  these  are  real  accomplishments  in 
this  day  of  small  things  .  .  .  and  the  children  liked  him — a 
good  sign,  too.  .  .  ." 

Something  had  made  the  archdeacon  feel  a  little  sad.  He 
was  wishing  that  he  too  could  have  been  with  the  children,  as 
Kirk  had  been.  He  felt  that  he  must  be  growing  very  elderly. 
He  rang  the  bell  to  summon  the  servants  for  family  prayers. 


CHAPTER  LII 

MARIAN  progressed  but  slowly.  She  had  been  away 
for  three  months.  Living  at  Scarborough  cost  far 
more  than  they  had  anticipated.  It  left  Kirk  but  eighteen 
shillings  a  week  for  himself.  He  found  increasing  difficulty 
in  making  ends  meet.  But  he  sent  Marian  no  word  of  his 
position.  He  was  in  need  of  new  boots,  and  the  wet  weather 
was  arriving,  but  he  bought  shoes  for  they  cost  him  only  half 
the  price  of  boots.  For  his  prospective  examination  he  re- 
quired many  expensive  books.  It  seemed  almost  impossible 
to  buy  them,  just  at  present.  Rigid  economy  in  living  seemed 
the  only  course.  He  left  his  rather  comfortable  rooms  be- 
cause they  were  dearer  than  he  could  now  afford.  The  whole 
population  at  Holmroyd  was  of  the  operative  class.  Cheaper 
rooms  had  been  most  difficult  to  find,  but  Kirk  had  found 
them,  and  he  now  lived  in  a  street  of  workmen's  cottages, 
in  the  poorest  and  most  squalid  circumstances  he  had  ever 
known.  He  had  a  small  bedroom  to  himself,  but  shared  the 
dirty  little  front  room  downstairs  with  a  young  man  who 
touted  from  door  to  door  for  a  tea-merchant.  This  Jewish 
young  man  ate  noisily,  was  grossly  content,  and  persistently 
tried  to  patronise  and  be  familiar  with  the  austere  new- 
comer. Kirk's  temperament  could  only  present  to  this  per- 
son the  same  civil,  reserved,  but  irritating  front,  day  by  day. 
Their  meals  were  brought  in  separately  upon  trays.  They 
received  solely  and  specifically  what  they  paid  for.  The  house 
was  managed  by  two  old  maids,  one  fat  and  the  other  lean, 
both  dirty  and  slatternly.  Kirk  soon  discovered  that  they 
drank,  and  hence  they  were  in  poverty.  The  silver-plating 
had  almost  disappeared  from  the  brassy  spoons  and  forks, 

415 


416  THE    BOBN    FOOL 

the  knives  had  worn  to  half  their  length,  the  yellow  handles 
were  always  greasy  or  sticky.  Kirk  several  times  shewed  the 
lean  woman  the  dirt  between  the  fork-prongs ;  before  her  eyes 
he  held  his  bread,  soiled  by  cutting  with  a  filthy  knife ;  and 
he  pointed  out  other  offensive  facts.  But  his  complaints  were 
without  avail.  Very  soon  she  lost  her  temper  and  spoke 
violently  before  the  tea-man — 

"If  it  ain't  good  enough  for  you  why  don't  you  leave? 
Mr.  Samuels  never  grumbles." 

Kirk's  pale  cheeks  flushed  hotly,  but  he  held  his  peace. 
Things  nevertheless  were  cleaner  for  a  few  days,  and  then 
became  as  bad  as  ever.  Kirk  arranged  different  times  for  his 
meals  in  order  to  avoid  the  noisy  eater,  and  to  escape  the 
feeling  of  contamination  and  disgust  that  this  young  man 
invincibly  gave  him.  The  two  old  unfortunates  refused  to 
serve  his  meals  upstairs  unless  they  received  considerable 
extra  payment.  This  he  could  not  give.  Breakfast  consisted 
of  one  theoretically  fresh  egg,  always  boiled  either  too  hard 
or  too  little,  or  it  would  be  execrably  scrambled  with  stale 
butter.  In  addition,  a  certain  allowance  of  bread  and  but- 
ter was  supplied.  He  found  tea  the  better  of  the  two  inferior 
English  breakfast  liquids  they  supplied.  On  Sundays  a  few 
square  inches  of  bacon  were  added.  His  daily  dinner  of  two 
courses  was  at  one  o'clock,  and  its  composition  was  a  scrap 
of  "steak"  three-fifths  of  an  inch  thick,  or  one  three-quarter- 
inch  slice  of  codfish,  sometimes  boiled,  sometimes  dried  to  a 
ridiculous  diameter,  or  it  might  be  a  "chop"  from  one  of 
those  attenuated  blackened  moorland  sheep.  The  potatoes 
were  seldom  entirely  eatable ;  and  when  good,  Kirk  theorised 
there  must  have  been  no  bad  ones  for  sale.  The  second 
course,  of  pudding,  usually  came  in  the  smallest  size  of 
pie-dish,  and  Kirk  had  compared  the  contents  with  the  har- 
dened floor  of  lava  at  bottom  of  a  crater,  surrounded  by  black- 
ened walls  of  burnt  milk.  Only  those  who  have  lived  poorly 
— after  living  well — know  how  utterly  distasteful  food  can  be 
made,  and  how  all  leavings  of  the  markets  are  daily  bought 


THE    BORN   FOOL  417 

and  eaten  by  the  indigent.  "Tea"  included  four  unvarying 
items, — tea,  jam,  bread  and  butter.  Kirk  felt  positive  it  was 
not  butter ;  and  "the  preserve"  was  known  to  himself  as  "jam- 
trifle,"  for  somehow  there  seemed  always  dead  flies  and  bits 
of  string  to  be  discovered  and  rejected.  It  is  but  fair  to  men- 
tion that  the  flies  were  not  native  to  the  jam,  for  the  vicinity 
of  a  large  mews  kept  the  rooms  thickly  supplied  with  black 
and  festive  flies.  At  nine  o'clock  or  so  the  supper  entered, 
often  rather  unsteadily.  It  comprised  a  jug  of  water,  some 
bread,  the  supposed  butter,  and  a  little — very  little — hard 
inferior  cheese.  Kirk  always  wiped  the  tumbler  with  care; 
and  always  it  was  needful  to  clean  the  black  dirt  out  of  the 
fork-prongs;  and,  by  the  end  of  the  week,  there  was  some 
difficulty  to  find  a  fresh  unsoiled  corner  on  the  pocket-hand- 
kerchief-like serviette. 

At  first  was  felt  by  Kirk  a  most  genuine  hunger,  for  since 
his  illness  his  body  had  demanded  a  full  supply  of  food.  But 
after  some  weeks  habit  prevailed  and  he  grew  used  to  a 
small  amount  of  food. 

He  had  spent  hours  in  seeking  some  abode  less  wretched, 
but  in  vain.  !No  one  took  in  lodgers,  every  one  worked  at  the 
mill.  He  found  other  rooms — but  all  were  too  dear.  He  was 
forced  to  hold  himself  much  in  reserve  with  the  fellow-mem- 
bers of  Mr.  Gifford's  staff,  for  he  could  not  return  their  hos- 
pitalities. Once  or  twice  under  observation  when  going  home 
he  had  turned  off  in  a  wrong  direction,  for  he  was  ashamed 
of  the  locality  of  the  house.  He  had  been  obliged  also  to  give 
up  smoking,  but  the  staff  believed  Kirk  desisted  of  his  own 
choice.  The  occasional  dinings  out  at  the  Rokebys  and  the 
Giffords  were  veritable  feasts  for  Kirk,  both  physical  and 
mental.  The  Rokebys  sent  their  notes  to  the  office.  Kirk 
had  asked  them  to  do  this, — "Then  I  shall  be  sure  to  receive 
any  note  quickly."  But  these  miserable  subterfuges  were 
depressing. 

In  the  evenings  since  his  illness  he  had  worked  a  little  at 
the  geological  paper,  and  now  at  last  it  was  complete.  Pro- 


418  THE    BORN    FOOL 

fessor  Rally  had  gone  through  the  proofs — correcting,  advis- 
ing, discussing,  searching  for  references — and  now  the  pre- 
cious thing  had  gone  to  the  Secretary,  who  passed  the  English 
and  gave  the  thesis  to  the  Referees;  they,  in  turn,  reported 
to  the  Council  that  the  matter  was  original,  and  suitable  for 
reading.  The  day  was  fixed.  Kirk  was  glad  that  he  had 
paid  the  annual  subscription  early  in  the  year:  until  next 
April  he  need  pay  no  more.  He  waited  now,  until  the  date 
for  reading  was  very  near  and  then  he  wrote  a  careful  let- 
ter telling  the  Professor  that  he  regretted  deeply  he  could 
not  possibly  be  in  London  on  that  date;  and,  under  the  un- 
fortunate circumstances,  he  asked  the  Professor  to  read  the 
paper  in  his  stead. 

Professor  Rally  wrote  back  in  haste. — He  thought  it  a 
great  pity,  a  very  great  pity,  a  great  opportunity  would  be 
lost,  but  if  it  were  absolutely  unavoidable — though  he  could 
not  really  understand  why, — why,  then,  of  course,  he  would 
be  glad  to  present  Kirk's  work  to  the  Institute.  It  was  an  im- 
portant contribution  to  come  from  one  so  young ;  it  was  most 
lamentable  that  Clinton  could  not  re-arrange  his  work,  and 
take  such  an  excellent  chance  of  becoming  more  known  in 
scientific  circles,  it  was  become  impossible  now  to  alter  the 
date,  no  time  was  left,  he  had  been  to  see  the  Secretary — but 
he  hoped  earnestly  that  Kirk  could  come. 

Rally  delivered  the  paper — and  Kirk's  feelings  were  very 
mingled  as  he  read  the  old  man's  letter  written  the  day  after 
the  event,  in  which  he  told  Kirk  of  the  high  praise  given,  and 
of  kind  words  said  by  Lapworth,  Geikie,  Prestwich,  and  other 
great  men. 

But  this  deprivation  was  all  for  Marian's  sake,  thought 
Kirk,  and  there  was  no  real  sacrifice  in  these  hardships.  It 
could  not  possibly  be  helped.  Thank  goodness  it  was  past 
and  gone !  even  postage  had  cost  him  far  too  much. 

But  not  yet  was  the  affair  closed.  A  week  passed  and  then 
Kirk  received  word  that  the  Council  considered  his  work  of 


THE    BOEN   EOOL  419 

sufficient  import  to  be  included  in  the  Journal.  This  de- 
lighted him ;  he  sat  and  thought  a  moment,  for  he  knew  that 
a  large  percentage  of  papers  read  before  the  Fellows  were 
not  considered  worthy  of  this  honour.  Eagerly  he  read  on. 
The  Secretary  asked  how  many  spare  copies  Kirk  wished  to 
have  bound  and  printed,  adding  that,  as  usual,  twelve  copies 
would  be  given  gratis.  Would  he  please  reply  by  return  of 
post  and  give  his  order  as  the  litho-stones  were  required  at 
once  for  other  plates  ?  It  was  usual  to  send  the  money  with 
the  order  direct  to  the  publishers.  He  enclosed  the  address. 
The  Institute  took  no  responsibility  for  private  copies.  They 
would  cost  in  this  case  only  two  shillings  each,  for  fifty  copies 
and  upwards. 

Kirk  reluctantly  was  compelled  to  write  that  he  required 
no  spare  copies.  He  felt  hard  hit  by  this  deprivation.  It 
did  not  occur  to  him  to  tell  some  friend  of  his  position,  and 
obtain  a  small  loan.  In  a  few  days,  he  received  a  second  and 
very  different  letter  from  Professor  Rally : — 

"I  am  astonished  and  grieved  to  hear  from  Blackdales  that 
you  have  ordered  no  copies  of  your  work!  and  that  he  has 
actually  cleaned  the  stones !  We  all  want  extra  copies.  You 
really  seem  to  have  no  appreciation  of  your  own  work.  Con- 
sidering the  great  pains  I  have  taken  for  you,  Clinton,  I  feel 
that  I  am  extremely  ill-used.  /  cannot  understand  your  ac- 
tion, and  now  it  is  too  late.  It  will  fully  repay  you  to  have  the 
whole  thing  done  again  by  the  publishers,  and  I  have  told 
them  to  keep  the  originals  and  all  your  drawings  pending 
your  reply,  which  I  fervently  hope  will  be  in  the  affirmative. 
You  are  clever,  Clinton,  but  you  must  avoid  all  eccentricities 
such  as  this.  I  am  exceedingly  surprised.  I  really  shall  not 
know  what  excuse  to  make  for  you  to  people,  for  the  paper 
will  be  asked  for  all  round,  and,  of  course,  you  should  have 
presented  the  copies  yourself  to  all  the  other  men  who  specu- 
late in  your  field."  And  much  more  followed.  A  few  days 


420  THE    BORN    FOOL 

iater  arrived  the  twelve  copies  supplied  gratis  by  the  Geo- 
logical Institute. 

Kirk  replied  to  Rally  by  sending  six  of  his  twelve  precious 
copies.  With  them  he  sent  a  short  note,  telling  Rally  how 
sorry  and  grieved  he  was,  and  that  the  real  reason  of  his  ac- 
tion was  extreme  hard-upness.  He  had,  unexpectedly,  been 
compelled  to  save  and  spend  every  penny  of  late  to  help  a 
sister.  He  sent  one  copy  of  his  thesis  to  Marian,  one  to  Mr. 
Lucy,  and  one  to  Mrs.  Athorpe.  On  the  first  he  wrote  the 
words — magical  to  a  young  man — "With  the  Author's  com- 
pliments," and  those  sent  to  Marian  and  to  his  aunt  he  in- 
scribed "With  the  Author's  love."  But  he  knew  he  had 
missed- a  good  step  towards  the  Geological  Survey,  and  he 
feared  he  had  lost  the  Professor  as  a  friend.  Kirk  told 
Marian  not  a  word  of  this  humiliation.  It  could  do  no  good, 
and  would  be  most  unkind.  .  .  .  "Indeed  it  might  force  her 
to  forego  her  cure,"  thought  he. 

It  was  at  this  time  she  wrote  asking  him  to  go  to  Bruside ; 
for  her  step-mother  had  written  to  her,  and  was  very  troubled. 
Mrs.  Gisburn  wanted  her  to  return  at  once,  for  folk  said  that 
Kirk  had  gone  off,  and  would  never  come  back,  and  Mr. 
Vosper  had  even  asked  if  Kirk  and  she  were  married. 
Marian,  rather  home-sick,  was  inclined  to  obey.  Kirk  wrote 
a  letter  to  stiffen  her  against  returning,  but  promised  to  go 
himself  to  Bruside.  On  the  following  Saturday,  carrying  a 
small  handbag,  he  walked  there  over  the  moors.  He  had  little 
recollection  of  that  walk,  except  that  he  was  anxious  and 
sorrowful  and  felt  very  tired  towards  the  end,  and  he  remem- 
bered how  saffron  had  been  the  sky  reflected  in  the  lonely 
peaty  pools,  as  he  descended  the  high  moorland  above  Bru- 
side. 

Unexpectedly  he  enjoyed  this  visit.  He  was  glad  to  eat 
the  good  food  at  Mrs.  Gisburn's,  thankful  for  the  cleanli- 
ness .and  quietude,  and  for  the  clean  soft  bed  in  which  he 
slept.  On  the  Sunday  he  wrote  Marian  a  long  letter,  sending 
her  by  request  Mrs.  Gisburn's  love,  and  pointing  out  to  her 


THE   BORN   FOOL  421 

on  his  own  account  that  those  at  Bruside  were  by  now  quite 
used  to  her  absence.  There  was  no  need  for  her  return.  He 
had  made  a  point  of  going  to  church  morning  and  evening 
with  Ruth  and  Mrs.  Gisburn,  who  seemed  content.  He  en- 
closed a  pretty  wedding-card  of  rough  artistic  paper— and  a 
letter,  both  from  Ted,  who  announced  his  approaching  wed- 
ding. Ted  apologised  for  short  notice  to  the  best  man,  but 
wrote  that  Kirk  ought  to  feel  specially  complimented,  for 
both  Jeannie  and  himself  had  long  selected  him  as  best  man. 
Ted  further  gave  full  particulars  of  trains ;  he  wrote  that  the 
house  would  be  so  full  of  Jeannie's  relatives  that  Kirk  would 
have  to  sleep  next  door,  but  they  knew  old  Kikkie  would 
not  mind  that  under  the  circumstances.  Admiral  Molyneux. 
was  at  home  and  was  coming  to  the  wedding,  the  two  Moly- 
neux  children  would  be  bridesmaids.  Kirk  must  write  by 
return  and  acknowledge  this  letter.  It  was  a  fearful  busi- 
ness getting  married !  Their  father  had  written  unexpectedly 
from  Severnly,  he  accepted  the  invitation  and  enclosed  a 
cheque  for  a  hundred  pounds!  !  I  Wonders  never  ceased! 

Kirk  told  Marian  he  had  not  yet  replied,  but  that  he  must 
at  once  do  so.  He  did  not  say  what  reply  he  intended. 
Marian  perhaps  had  not  considered — thought  he — how  very 
hard  up  must  be  her  lover. 

Kirk  arose  very  early  on  Monday  and  walked  back  to 
Holmroyd.  Mrs.  Gisburn  had  no  trouble  to  make  him  pack 
in  his  bag  six  fine  eggs  and  a  sultana  cake. 

On  the  evening  of  this  day  Kirk  wrote  Ted  an  affectionate 
and  very  difficult  letter;  in  fact,  he  wrote  three,  tearing  up 
the  first  two.  At  last,  with  great  compunction,  he  wrote  Ted 
what  was  not  true: — that  he,  Kirk,  could  not  possibly  be 
away  from  his  work  for  two  days  in  the  middle  of  the  week, 
for  he  was  still  a  newcomer,  and  Mr.  Gifford  a  strict  dis- 
ciplinarian. He  could  only  say  how  very  very  sorry  he  was, 
but  he  gave  Ted  his  word  that  it  was  really  impossible  for 
him  to  come :  and  he  added,  "I  am  also  very  hard  up  indeed, 
after  my  illness,  and  now  I  am  engaged  I  feel  I  have  no 


422  THE    BOKN    FOOL 

right  to  spend  a  single  penny  I  can  help,  so  I  hope  you  will 
excuse  and  forgive  my  absence,  and  the  breaking  of  an  old 
promise.  I  do  so  hope  it  will  not  inconvenience  you.  I  send 
my  love  to  Jeannie,  for  she  will  soon  be  my  sister.  I  wish 
you  both  the  greatest  of  happiness  and  blessing.  Ever  your 
affectionate  brother,  Kirk." 

He  was  surprised  on  Wednesday  morning  to  find  that  the 
usual  letter  from  Marian  had  not  arrived,  and  when  by 
Thursday  morning  no  letter  came  he  wondered  if  she  had 
after  all  foolishly  returned  to  Bruside  and  feared  to  write 
him.  Outside,  as  he  closed  the  house-door,  the  postman  ap- 
proaching held  up  his  hand, 

"Half-a-minute,  sir !" 

Kirk  with  relief  received  Marian's  letter.  He  put  the 
sealed  envelope  in  his  pocket  and  hurried  to  the  office.  He 
would  read  her  letter  when  he  had  dealt  with  a  few  urgent 
things,  for  he  was  rather  late. 

Mr.  Gifford  had  fine  offices,  and  Kirk's  table  was  of  oak, 
and  richly  carved.  The  young  engineer  undoubtedly  had 
position  although  he  had  not  yet  begun  to  make  the  money. 
In  his  large  room  were  two  pupils  under  his  care,  and,  at 
this  particular  moment,  as  he  opened  Marian's  thick  letter, 
two  tracers  were  also  working  in  the  far  corner,  finishing 
copies  of  some  new  plans.  The  room  was  quite  silent.  Kirk' a 
back  was  turned  to  his  assistants.  He  had  just  looked  over 
their  work,  and  had  also  seen  his  foreman. 

He  now  opened  Marian's  letter.  His  eyes  received  the 
strange  words, — 

"A  Briton  knows  when  she  is  insulted.  .  .  ." 

What? — a  copy  of  what?  .  .  .  She  had  written  this  to 
Jeannie  ? 

As  he  read  on,  a  sick  faintness  overcame  him.  He  sat  mo- 
tionless, clutching  the  letter,  his  face  disfigured,  deathly.  A 
bitterness  unspeakable  was  being  born  in  him.  The  absolute 
death  of  the  ideal  is  always  an  atrocious  torture.  After  a 


THE    BORN    FOOL  423 

time  he  drew  to  himself  a  piece  of  paper  and  wrote  in 
pencil : — 

"DEAR  MR.  GIFFORD, 

"I  feel  very  unwell  to-day  and  am  obliged  to  go  home,  and  I  beg 
you  will  excuse  my  attendance.  I  have  instructed  Edwards. 

"K.  CLINTON." 

What  in  her  dark  ignorance  had  Marian  done  to  her  lover  ? 
— while  he  spent  his  body  and  his  soul  for  her  ? 

For  two  days  she  had  brooded  on  the  fact  that  she  was 
left  out  of  the  invitation.  She  had  secretly  believed  all  along 
that  she  would  go  to  this  wedding.  How  dare  he,  Kirk,  think 
she  was  not  good  enough !  This  was  her  first  interpretation. 
Mortally  hurt  was  her  pride.  They  had  very  likely  written 
privately  to  Kirk !  A  fierce  jealousy  and  resentment  worked 
in  her  blood.  "Ah !" — thought  she,  in  tears, — "I'm  not  even 
good  enough  to  be  asked  to  the  wedding  with  Kirk — and  it's 
my  right.  .  .  ." 

But  she  would  stick  up  for  herself!  They  should  know 
what  she  thought  of  them !  And  Kirk, — it  was  cruel  that  he 
had  not  written  back  and  told  them  how  they  had  insulted 
her!  If  he  thought  she  was  not  good  enough  for  him,  she 
could  not  marry  him. — She  felt  crushed  by  utter  despair. 

An  evil  impulse,  a  mad  resentment,  a  possession  of  the 
devil,  filled  her.  She  seized  the  pen  and  sat  down.  She  wrote 
a  fierce  note  to  Miss  Mackenzie — How  dare  she  invite  the 
man  she  was  engaged  to  without  asking  his  fiancee  ?  "But  a 
Briton  knows  when  she  is  insulted,  and  you  can  think  what 
you  like  of  me,  but  you're  no  lady  or  you  wouldn't  do  such  a 
cruel  thing  to  me.  But  you  shan't  play  your  cruel  tricks 
without  people  letting  you  know  they  know  what  you  are," 
etc.,  for  two  pages. 

While  the  evil  mood  lasted  she  wrote  sadly  and  resent- 
fully to  her  lover,  and  accused  him  of  being  ashamed  of  her, 
of  not  loving  her,  and  she  wrote  that  if  he  went  to  the  wed- 
ding, then  she  would  know  he  did  not  truly  love  her,  and  that 


424  THE    BOKN    FOOL 

she  could  not  marry  him.  She  would  rather  die.  At  this 
point  she  paused.  But  the  faint  movement  of  good  sense 
failed.  She  wrote  on — "I  seem  fated  to  unhappiness."  And 
to  herself  she  thought, — "I  wish  I'd  drowned  meself  long  ago. 
I  feel  that  ill  and  that  miserable." 

Her  next  few  days  were  most  acutely  unhappy.  Many 
times  she  thrust  away  the  wish  to  write  again  and  say  she 
had  done,  what  she  had  done,  in  a  bad  temper.  On  Sunday 
an  envelope  came  from  Kirk.  All  it  contained  were  postal 
orders  for  twenty-four  shillings.  But  her  pride  and  igno- 
rance were  stronger  in  the  balance  than  her  love,  and  they 
conquered  her.  In  painfully  offended  vanity,  in  sullen 
despair,  in  great  depression  of  mind — she  began  to  gather  her 
few  belongings  into  the  trunk  he  had  bought  and  given  her. 
When  she  got  home  she  would  send  back  everything  to  him, 
and  work  herself  to  the  grave — but  first  she  would  repay  him 
every  penny  he  had  spent  upon  her. 

Kirk  did  not  know  that  there  are  two  kinds  of  jealousy; 
one,  the  meanest,  rises  from  a  gross  clawing  selfishness,  but 
the  other  is  a  fear  of  loss  of  love.  This  fear  especially  tor- 
ments uneducated  men  and  women,  who  have  been  starved 
and  lacking  in  their  lives.  Marian  suffered  from  this  de- 
fect of  growth,  and  her  hard  life  largely  was  responsible,  but 
Kirk  knew  only  of  the  green-eyed,  mean-souled  jealousy. 


CHAPTER  LIII 

UPON  the  moors,  mentally  and  emotionally  distraught, 
unhinged,  Kirk  spent  the  first  day  and  the  night  and 
the  second  day — walking,  leaning  on  walls,  sitting  in  old  de- 
serted quarries,  lying  and  thinking,  thinking  by  himself  in 
remote  hollows  in  the  ling.  At  evening  on  the  first  day  he 
went  to  an  inn,  "The  Moorcock,"  the  solitary  house,  in  miles 
of  waste  slopes,  that  were  blackened  with  sooted  heather,  or 
dirty-yellow  where  the  rain  of  winter  had  exposed  the  dingy 
clays,  shales  and  grits.  Mechanically  he  made  a  meal  of 
bread  and  cheese,  and  drank  some  beer.  The  sole  visitor,  he 
sat  by  himself  until  nine  o'clock,  and  then  went  out  again  and 
walked  or  stood,  or  sat,  aimlessly;  and  late  in  the  night  he 
dozed  like  an  animal  in  a  place  he  had  been  to  in  the  day, 
and  that  he  had  found  again  by  a  blind  instinct  of  his  body. 
Fortunately,  perhaps,  the  weather  was  unusually  warm.  He 
had  been  oblivious  to  all  physical  sensation,  except  that  of 
hunger  when  he  had  seen  and  gone  to  the  inn. 

Differing  only  in  degrees,  there  have  been  many  temptings 
in  the  wilderness.  Temptation  is  that  desire  to  act  against 
our  innate  sense  of  spiritual  law.  This  knowledge  of  law, 
which  is  the  "conscience,"  may  be  distorted,  wrong,  diseased ; 
but  inevitably,  infallibly,  we  are  "tempted"  whenever  we  de- 
sire to  act  against  that  which  our  higher  emotional,  or  men- 
tal, or  spiritual  nature,  tells  us  is  right. 

That  sense  of  honour,  of  chivalry,  of  the  immutability  of  a 
promise,  strongly  nurtured  in  her  children  so  long  ago  by 
Kirk's  mother ;  that  love-ability,  gentleness  and  pity,  that  de- 
sire of  self-sacrifice,  developed  in  Kirk  for  good  or  ill — 
assuredly  built  into  and  integral  of  his  character — these  as  it 

425 


426  THE    BORN    FOOL 

were  clung  to  him  by  the  arm  as  he  dragged  them  hither  and 
thither.  But  the  He,  the  Himself,  what  did  He  desire  ?  He 
desired  freedom  from  his  promise,  at  the  mortal  hurt  of 
Marian. 

On  the  early  autumn  evening  of  the  second  day  Kirk 
looked  down  on  Bruside,  and  beheld  the  scene  of  his  painful 
courtship.  His  physical  vehicle,  that  body,  in  which  resides 
closest  those  powerful  materialities,  those  passions  that  grow 
fainter  in  our  slow  upward  way  "from  species  to  beyond 
species," — that  vehicle,  his  body,  was  temporarily  much 
weakened. 

"I  forgive  you,  poor  Marian,  because  you  are  not  a  man, 
because  I  cannot  take  advantage  of  your  weakness.  You 
have  bitten  me,  and  returned  me  evil  for  good,  but  I  can- 
not watch  you  drown.  Nor  ...  if  I  were  free,  have  I  any 
wish  to  live.  7  am  not  ...  in  all  my  future  ...  7  am  not. 
.  .  .  The  desire  of  life  is  dead  in  me.  It  is  less  painful  to  go 
on  than  to  desert  her.  One  of  these  two  will  then  be  happy 
.  .  .  the  other  could  not  be  more  unhappy,  do  what  he  might 
.  .  .  and  what  she  has  done  has  not  released  me." 

He  slowly  tore  up  her  letter,  and  with  his  heel  scraped  a 
hole.  He  put  in  those  bits  of  paper  covered  with  their  black 
marks,  drew  the  rocky  soil  over  them,  and  replaced  the  heavy 
stone  he  had  raised. 

Numbed  in  mind  and  body  he  sought  the  inn.  To  take 
food  was  the  first  act  in  the  new  etiolated  life :  and,  revived 
a  little,  he  slowly  made  his  way  back  to  Holmroyd.  He  had 
ten-pence  left  in  his  pocket.  He  took  a  penny  fare  on  the 
steam  tram  and  reached  the  General  Post  Office  in  time  to 
telegraph  Marian: 

"Remain  where  you  are.    I  have  done  what  you  wish." 

He  had  not  yet  done  this,  but  in  his  dejection  and  resent- 
ment of  his  fate  it  was  not  so  difficult.  He  slept  till  late  on 
Sunday  morning,  and  in  his  bedroom  tore  open  Mrs. 


THE   BOKN    FOOL  427 

Athorpe's  letter  and  his  brother's  three-day-old  letter. 
Folded  with  Ted's  handwriting,  he  drew  from  the  envelope 
Marian's  frightful  letter  to  his  brother's  sweetheart.  He  read 
what  they  said,  but  it  did  not  affect  him  at  the  moment  as 
might  be  thought.  Cynically  he  smiled  in  his  isolation. 

"Ah,  how  little  you  two  know  of  life  and  misery !  you  have 
never  been  put  to  the  torture." 

Ted  wrote  in  anger.  Jeannie  had  been  most  wantonly 
insulted,  most  abominably  slandered.  He  presumed  Kirk 
knew  his  fiancee  had  written  to  Jeannie,  and  he  returned  her 
letter.  He  and  Miss  Mackenzie  had  never  thought,  nor  even 
imagined,  that  of  which  Miss  Butterworth  accused  them. 
They  had  clearly  understood  that  Kirk  and  she  were  econo- 
mising. Hence  they  had  asked  only  Kirk.  If  he  could  not 
come,  he,  Ted,  could  not  easily  forgive  it,  all  their  plans  were 
quite  upset;  he  must  telegraph  his  reply.  He  hoped  Kirk 
would  have  no  more  to  do  with  such  a  girl  as  Miss  Butter- 
worth.  The  whole  affair  was  utterly  beyond  his  compre- 
hension. 

Thought  Kirk,  "This  is  best.  As  I  am  to  look  after 
Marian,  it  is  best  to  be  cut  off  from  people  who  could  not 
understand  our  fate." 

Bitterness  and  misanthropy  is  a  common  refuge  of  men 
sorely  wounded  in  love.  Like  animals,  they  desire  to  be 
solitary  in  their  anguish,  and  to  hide  themselves. 

Kirk  now  deliberately  put  forth  the  knife  to  sever  that  life- 
long affection  between  himself  and  brother.  He  wrote : — 

"DEAR  TED, 

"I  am  aware  of  the  action  of  the  girl  whom  I  intend  to  marry. 
You  will  hear  no  more  from  me.  I  regret  you  are  so  inconvenienced. 
Good-bye. 

"K.  CLINTON." 

He  sent  a  copy  of  this  note  to  Marian,  with  a  few  words, 
excusing  himself  for  not  writing  more  to  her;  he  was  much 
occupied,  he  hoped  that  she  was  now  satisfied.  The  letter 


428  THE    BOKN    FOOL 

she  had  written  to  Miss  Mackenzie  he  enclosed.  It  had  been 
returned  to  him.  He  hoped  she,  Marian,  saw  the  importance 
of  her  action,  and  was  satisfied  with  the  results:  they  would 
be  lasting. 

Marian  replied  affectionately,  she  wrote  that  she  had 
never  meant  for  a  moment  to  cause  a  break  between  him  and 
his  brother,  because  she  had  always  believed  they  were  fond 
of  each  other.  Who  she  blamed  was  Miss  Mackenzie.  She 
had  had  a  queer  dream  about  her,  in  which  she  saw  the  girl 
was  being  married,  and  when  herself  was  arriving  with  the 
other  guests,  Miss  Mackenzie  held  her  arms  up  and  seemed  to 
push  her  right  back ;  she  had  to  go,  until  they  came  to  a  well, 
and  the  girl  made  her  look  down  it,  "and  in  my  dream-book 
a  well  means  knowledge.  I  know  she's  got  a  spite  against  me. 
She'd  have  liked  to  have  taken  you  away  from  me,  Kirk." 

.  .  .  "Curse  everything !  What  matters  anything  ?  except 
duty  ...  I  suppose,"  thought  Kirk,  as  he  read  this. 

By  December  Marian  was  so  much  recovered  that  she 
was  able  to  come  home.  Kirk  before  allowing  this  made 
strict  conditions  with  Mrs.  Gisburn  and  the  sisters.  Marian 
was  not  to  go  to  the  mill ;  she  was  to  help  keep  house  with  her 
stepmother.  He  would  pay  fourteen  shillings  a  week  towards 
her  expenses.  This  latter  was  demurred  to,  but  Kirk  insisted 
as  it  gave  him  a  strong  hold.  The  girl  came  home  looking 
wonderfully  well,  fresh,  and  young. 

Kirk  was  to  come  over  once  a  fortnight.  She  had  not  seen 
him  for  three  months  and  was  surprised  and  much  disturbed 
by  some  extraordinary  change  in  him.  She  observed  it  si- 
lently. His  good  looks  had  largely  gone.  He  was  extremely 
thin  and  pale,  his  eyes  seemed  deeper  in  his  head,  he  had  a 
set  and  fixed  expression,  especially  about  the  mouth.  He 
seemed  very  much  older,  and  was  taciturn,  dull,  and  he  sel- 
dom looked  at  her,  very  seldom  kissed  her,  yet  treated  her  the 
same  in  his  attentions.  But  he  never  spoke  of  love,  or  read 


THE    BORN    FOOL  429 

to  her.  He  rarely  smiled,  and  when  he  did  so  it  was  cynically. 
Yet  he  was  invariably  gentle  with  her.  She  felt  anxious  about 
ais  health.  Standing  with  her  broad  shoulders  turned  to  Mrs. 
Gisburn — her  hands  upon  her  small  and  round  waist — she 
spoke  one  day  of  Kirk's  looks. 

"It's  Kirk  that  ought  to  be  at  the  seaside,  mother." 

"That's  what  we  think,  Marian,  my  lass.  But  we're  all 
afeart  t'oppen  our  mouths  now,  you're  both  that  tetchy  and 
brabble.  There's  a  change  come  i'  this  house!" 

"He's  gone  so  different,  mother." 

"Why  don't  ye  do  some  work,  my  gurl !  and  help  your  man 
to  get  things  you  want  ?  He's  getten'  too  much  on  his  shoul- 
ders. He's  nobbut  young.  Younger  than  thee,  an'  gentle- 
bred.  Yon  does  naught  but  brood  and  brood,  and  wark  and 
wark.  He's  fair  neshed  and  dull.  .  .  .  Times,  Marian,  o' 
late,  ar've  wished  off  en  t'lad  had  never  seen  thee.  ..." 

"I  wanted  to  go  to  mill,  but  you  know  he'd  not  hear  of  it." 

"Thee  mun  go  wi'out  letting  him  know,  and  do  thi  fair 
share !" 

"If  I  do  I  should  have  what  I  earn  ?  if  you  have  what  he 
pays  ?" 

"Ay,  ye  can  take  it  and  welcome,  my  lass,  we  shall  be  glad 
to  see  ye  married,  Marian,  we  thinks  better  to  ye  than  ye 
seem  to  believe,  though  we're  your  own  kith." 

And  so,  without  Kirk  knowing,  Marian  went  once  more 
to  the  mill.  He  remained  a  month  longer  in  his  miserable 
lodgings,  saved  a  little  money,  and  began  to  suffer  from  ex- 
cessive insomnia.  Drunken  yellings  and  quarrellings  often 
awoke  him  and  prevented  sleep,  and  nearly  every  "operative" 
in  the  town  possessed  a  flea-bitten  unhappy  dog.  Poor  dogs 
were  they  that  knew  not  of  trottings  in  clean  roads,  pushings 
through  dewy  hedge-bottoms  or  scamperings  over  delicious 
grass.  Long's  excellent  rabies  order  was  in  full  force,  but  the 
poor  dogs  suffered  much,  temporarily ;  for  unless  chained  up, 
or  led  in  leash,  every  dog  was  muzzled.  The  noise  at  night 


430  THE    BORN    FOOL 

became  an  agony  to  the  jaded  nerves  of  Kirk ;  and  each  morn- 
ing he  awoke  unref reshed  after  a  few  broken  hours  of  sleep ; 
but  his  youth  and  recuperative  powers  were  yet  to  stand 
much  buffeting.  In  his  heart  he  considered  all  this  physical 
misery  a  part  of  the  eternal  unhappiness  of  life.  By  such 
as  himself  it  was  a  condition  unescapable.  He  saw  that  near- 
ly all  men's  faces  were  stoic,  resigned,  sullen,  calloused, 
dulled ;  and  who  was  he  that  he  should  be  excepted  ? 

In  January  Mr.  Gifford  increased  Kirk's  salary  to  £130; 
and  Kirk,  no  longer  able  to  endure  life  with  the  tea-man,  re- 
turned to  his  old  rooms,  for  happily  they  were  vacant. 


CHAPTEE  LIV 

IN  late  February  when  at  Bruside,  walking  with  Marian  in 
his  customary  pretended  cheerfulness,  his  habitual  simu- 
lated locking-forwardness, — Kirk  was  questioned  by  her. 

"Kirk,  does  your  aunt  write  just  the  same  ?" 

"Yes,  dear." 

"Does  she  know  why  you  didn't  go  to  Cheltenham  ?" 

"Yes." 

"But  you  didn't  tell  her  ?" 

"No.    Why  talk  of  that,  Marian?" 

"...  Only  this  once,  Kirk,  I'll  not  ask  you  agen  .  .  .  but 
I've  wanted  to  know  so  ...  was  it  Ted  told  her  ?" 

"My  brother  ?  .  .  .  I  presume  it  was.  Let  us  drop  the 
subject." 

"Told  her  about  what  I  wrote?" 

The  girl  asked  this  very  anxiously,  but  Kirk  did  not  reply. 

Recently  she  had  told  Jim  about  her  grievance,  and  was 
astounded,  frightened,  and  even  conscience-stricken  by  his 
extreme  astonishment,  vexation,  regret,  hurt  pride,  and 
prophecy  of  the  result.  Jim  had  been  more  disturbed  than 
Marian  ever  before  had  seen  him,  and  his  feelings  were  com- 
municated. After  a  silence  of  stupefaction,  he  had  ex- 
claimed— 

"Ay!  ye  fool!  ye  utter  selfish  fool!  what  think  they'll 
think  o'  thee  now  ?  and  of  all  of  us !  Ay,  you'll  never  see  any 
of  them  at  your  wedding,  my  fine  lass !  Yes,  and  if  it  had 
not  been  him,  he'd  have  brokken  off  with  thee !  It's  a  miracle 
to  me,  Marian,  that  you're  still  engaged !  By  God !  Yon  lad's 
onselfish  if  ever  a  man  wur !  ...  It  meks  me  feel  that  sad- 
like.  .  .  .  Eh,  Marian,  Marian,  how  could  thee  do  it  ?  Ar'm 
that  ashamed  of  thee.  It  meks  me  fair  cringe,  to  think  of 

431 


432  THE    BOKN    FOOL 

what  thee  wrote !  .  .  .  Why,  t'  lad  must  be  a  fool !  or  a  saint, 
to  keep  on  with  thee.  Tha't  none  worthy  o'  yon  lad.  Nay. 
I'm  ash-ermed  of  us  all.  Ay,  he  thinks  he  will!  but  he'll 
never  forgive  thee  this.  I  know  yon  better  than  thee;  be 
careful,  be  careful,  my  wench  .  .  .  and  after  all  that  he's 
done  for  thee.  ...  So  tha's  coot  him  off  from  them  he 
looves !  Ar  doubt  or  he'll  never  come  back  one  of  these  fane 
ders  .  .  .  and  who  could  blerme  him  ?  Not  me !" 

Jim  left  Marian  gone  pallid  with  fear,  her  ignorant  pride 
greatly  shaken,  but  with  her  fear  increased.  She  was  ashy 
pale,  for  she  could  not  bear  even  the  thought  of  losing  Kirk, 
for  by  now  he  was  built  into  her  very  heart  and  soul.  A 
fierce  hatred  and  great  unreasoned  fear  of  Jeannie  lived  on  in 
her.  That  girl  wanted  to  take  Kirk  from  her,  to  persuade  him 
not  to  marry  her,  that  was  what  it  was.  That  was  what  that 
dream  meant. 

Kirk  and  Marian  walked  on  a  hundred  yards  in  silence; 
there  was  no  one  about,  they  were  among  rough  pastures.  Her 
arm  was  in  his.  Then  in  a  low  apprehensive  voice  she  asked 
again,  nervously  unable  to  keep  from  the  subject, 

"Kirk  .  .  .  Did  Mrs.  Athorpe  say  anything  about  me  ?" 

"Why  do  you  ask  ?" — Kirk  said  it  vexedly  and  nervously ; 
he  feared  greatly  to  arouse  the  feelings  of  that  time. 

"Of  course  she  wrote,  a  good  deal ;  she  does  not  understand 
you,  or  me.  .  .  .  And  when  you  think  of  the  terrible  mis- 
take you  .  .  .  we  .  .  . " 

The  mere  reference  agitated  him.  He  had  not  meant  to 
utter  his  last  words,  but  the  words  of  his  aunt  were  before 
his  eyes,  he  saw  the  sentence :  "We  all  think  it  dreadful  for 
an  engaged  girl  to  make  a  quarrel  between  two  brothers  who 
love  each  other." 

Marian  withdrew  her  arm,  though  he  tried  to  retain  it. 

He  looked  at  her ;  she  was  very  pale. 

"You  do  think  I'm  not  good  enough  for  you." 

A  strong  pallor  overspread  her  hard,  suffering  face,  as  she 
looked  at  her  speechless  lover.  She  turned,  and  then  walked 


THE   BOKN    FOOL  433 

away.  He  stood  still,  his  back  remaining  towards  her.  It 
was  near  dusk,  and  the  ground  iron-bound  with  black  frost. 
He  stood  still  with  his  hands  clenched  before  him.  So  it  had 
come  to  this  after  all ! 

He  was  forced  round  to  take  a  last  look  at  her. 

She  had  stopped,  and  he  saw  she  was  kneeling  and  crouch- 
ing down  as  she  had  done  on  the  day  in  the  meadow,  nearly 
two  years  ago.  The  strongest  of  all  his  feelings,  the  absolute 
unbearableness  of  seeing  a  woman,  a  girl,  suffer  through  him- 
self like  that — re-triumphed. 

He  ran  towards  her. 

The  great  anguish  of  the  girl  had  quenched  even  her  pride. 
He  raised  her  silently  and  wiped  her  tears  with  his  own 
handkerchief — yet  knowing  fatally  that  he  loved  her  not. 
She  was  a  child,  a  suffering  girl  put  into  his  care,  and  he 
could  never  desert  her. 

Soon  after  this,  Marian's  physical  weakness  again  declared 
itself.  Kirk  discovered  she  had  been  at  the  mill.  But  when 
he  accused  her  she  put  into  his  hands  twelve  pounds.  He 
was  touched  by  this,  but  he  flushed,  for  it  is  still  the  man's 
part  solely,  between  lovers,  to  earn  the  money.  He  forth- 
with sent  her  to  Scarborough,  where  again  she  began  to  re- 
cover slowly. 

In  May  he  visited  her.  She  was  so  obviously  and  deeply 
in  love  with  him  that  he  had  a  keen  paroxysm  of  the  first 
fear  and  horror  of  deceiving  her. 

This  return  of  fear  came  over  him  at  the  very  moment  he 
entered  her  room.  Unexpectedly  he  had  arrived  by  an  earlier 
train.  Marian  jumped  up  and  threw  her  arms  round  him 
and  they  kissed  each  other. 

"Sit  down,  dear,  you  look  ever  so  tired,"  said  she,  and  he 
sat  on  the  fore  part  of  a  low  and  long  chair. 

A  minute  later  she  seated  herself  on  his  knee,  then  pushed 
him  gently  till  he  lay  well  back,  and  she  reclined  upon  him 


434  THE    BORN   FOOL 

and  beside  him,  and  lay  with  her  eyes  shut,  her  head  on  his 
breast. 

Kiss  her  again  at  this  moment  he  could  not;  it  was  too 
damnably  false ;  but  he  stroked  her  hair ;  no,  no,  he  no  longer 
loved  her,  though  he  strove  fiercely  to  shut  the  knowledge  out. 
For  dear  life  he  held  the  door  against  the  violent  foe.  Dur- 
ing the  next  ten  minutes  his  brain  ached  and  his  heart  dried, 
in  this  last  and  worst  conflict.  He  who  pretended  so  cleverly 
— he  who  deceived  a  woman,  even  a  dull  woman,  in  her 
greatest  knowledge — he  fenced — as  it  were — with  rigid  mus- 
cles, his  lightning  strokes  never  ceasing — parrying  his  tre- 
mendous desire  to  confess,  to  give  way.  Not  once  did  one. 
faint  suspicion  reach  Marian  of  this  last  terrible  struggle. 
Never  had  his  subtle  brain  shewed  more  skill — but  what  of 
exhaustion  ? 

He  made  laughter,  gave  her  caresses  while  his  heart 
stifled,  and  she  gazed  into  his  eyes  and  serene  face.  What 
he  truly  feared  was  the  powerful  telepathic  vibration  of  his 
feelings ;  these  indeed  had  sometimes  faintly  reached  Marian 
— as  in  the  field  that  day — while  he  deceived  her  mind ;  and 
at  one  time  she  had  wondered  extraordinarily  why  she  often 
liked  him  away  better  even  than  when  he  visited  her.  That 
had  been  so  strange. 

By  any  woman  of  but  very  little  finer  penetration,  by  any 
woman  of  less  selfish,  sensual,  unconscious  love,  by  any 
girl  only  a  slight  shade  more  sensitive,  he  would  have  been 
beaten  and  discovered  long  ago.  She  would  have  stood  up  in 
agony,  wordless,  have  parted  from  him,  and  gone  away  to 
break  her  heart — but  such  a  girl  .  .  .  would  never  have  hurt 
him  as  did  Marian.  With  a  girl  of  his  own  caste  such  things 
from  the  earliest  days  would  have  been  impossible. 

But  Marian  reclined  on  her  lover,  and  the  warmth  of  her 
limbs  penetrated  through  his  clothes. 

Driven  to  the  last  limit  by  the  self -outrage  upon  his  natural 
sincerity — his  nerves  in  tumult  and  losing  their  control — he 
suddenly  in  despair  released  the  passions  of  his  sex.  They 


THE    BORN   FOOL  435 

were  very  powerful,  but  well  in  hand.  He  had  never  before 
had  such  close  contact  with  a  woman's  form.  She  demanded 
this  passion,  he  saw  it  now,  and  he  gave  it  quickly;  he  al- 
lowed himself  to  think  of  her  semi-sensually,  but  with  re- 
luctance and  super-self-loathing.  He  held  her  to  himself. . 
Now  indeed  was  he  abased. 

But  one  second  or  two  later!  and  ah!  he  must  have 
groaned!  cried  out!  pushed  her  heavily  from  himself!  have 
told  her,  and  said,  "Let  us  both  die." 

With  his  left  arm  and  hand  he  took  her  round  the  waist, 
and  he  kissed  her  on  her  mouth.  His  right  hand  was  be- 
tween her  upper  arm  and  her  breast ;  she  eagerly  responded. 
She  turned  her  head  and  kissed  his  neck  many  times.  She 
pressed  her  warm  limbs  and  form  on  him  from  head  to  feet. 
She  locked  her  hand  in  his  own  and  it  sank  in  her  bosom. 
Her  face  flushed,  she  smiled,  and  her  eyes  closed. 

She  lay  still,  fully  satisfied  that  he  loved  her,  and  she  mur- 
mured— 

"You've  never  been  so  sweet  and  dear,  Kirk  ...  do  you 
remember  ...  I  once  said  I  wanted  a  man  who'd  kiss  me 
and  that  .  .  .  that's  my  idea  of  love  .  .  .  I've  always  felt 
miserable  that  after  we're  dead  .  .  .  we've  no  bodies  .  .  . 
there'd  be  nothing  sweet." 

They  remained  in  this  attitude  until  the  door  suddenly 
opened,  and  Marian  jumped  up  laughing  and  shook  her 
clothes,  and  exclaimed, 

"We  were  having  a  spoon !  Mrs.  Gillay." 

"Ay,  you  young  folks !  You  will  have  your  fun !"  Mrs. 
Gillay  bustled  about  at  a  tremendous  rate,  setting  the  tea 
table  like  lightning.  "Well,  I  say!  have  your  fun!  while 
you're  young !  but  don't  be  foolish  with  it.  Later  on  you'll 
have  enough  to  do  and  think  about,  with  a  house,  and  babies, 
and  what  not !" 

Marian  laughed  a  good  deal,  but  Kirk  could  not  smile.  He 
felt  cheap  and  humbled.  Yet  he  imagined  he  was  doing 
right  and  honourably.  He  had  kept  his  troth  to  Marian.  All 


436  THE    BOKN    FOOL 

they  Lad  now  to  do  was  to  be  married,  and  then  it  was  over 
and  finished.  She  was  looking  very  well  again.  They  would 
be  married  this  summer.  Then  it  would  finish  all  this  intol- 
erable struggle. 

From  this  day,  when  troubled  terribly  by  his  lost  love  and 
by  his  forced  insincerity,  Kirk  allowed  himself  to  think  less 
vaguely  of  Marian's  body,  but  always  he  reverted  from  this 
with  distress.  For  he  knew  what  true  love  was.  These  very 
thoughts  revealed  to  him  the  strongly  physical  side  of 
Marian's  regard.  He  remembered  again  and  again  her 
words,  once  said  laughingly  but  sincerely,  "It  was  your  legs 
that  took  my  fancy  first,  Kirk." 

"But  she  does  love  me  with  her  being  as  well.  Yes,  she 
loves  me — unfortunately,  unhappily,  and  I  cannot  desert 
her." 


CHAPTER  LV 

IT  was  the  day  before  the  wedding  of  Kirk  and  Marian. 
The  house  at  Bruside  was  filled  with  bustle.  The  chairs 
and  tables  of  the  large  parlour  were  covered  with  new  hats 
and  dresses.  In  the  smaller  room  was  the  village  seamstress, 
and  one  could  hear  the  sewing-machine,  starting  and  stopping. 
All  the  doors  stood  open  for  the  June  air  to  flow  through. 
Much  cooking  proceeded  in  the  large  living  room  and  kitchen 
of  the  old  house.  Rustlings  and  quick  footsteps  constantly 
sounded  overhead.  Ruth  and  Dinah  had  found  substitutes 
for  the  mill,  and  Jane,  the  daughter  of  Mrs.  Gisburn,  would 
arrive  in  the  afternoon,  from  Thirsk. 

An  old  woman,  very  talkative  and  active,  who  always  gave 
a  hand  with  local  wedding  work,  could  be  heard  clacking  in 
the  kitchen. 

To  Kirk,  his  nerves  at  high  tension,  all  this  upset  was 
offensive.  Nor  took  he  the  least  interest  in  these  preparations 
of  conventionality.  His  own  arrangements  for  the  honey- 
moon were  complete.  He  found  the  present  suspense  very 
trying. 

During  the  past  two  months,  time  had  taken  its  effect.  He 
had  reconquered  himself;  he  felt  some  genuine  affection 
towards  Marian  and  he  preserved  the  feeling  preciously.  Her 
unexpected  delight  and  lightness  at  the  approaching  cer- 
tainty of  marriage  penetrated  him;  but  this  made  him  feel 
again  that  he  was  unworthy.  For  obviously  she  loved  truly 
and  sincerely,  within  her  narrow  limits.  But  he  ...  was 
merely  a  curious  species.  All  he  possessed  was  strength 
of  honour.  Over  his  own  inconstancy  he  grieved  silently 
and  often :  but  he  resolved  more  than  ever  that  he  would  make 

437 


438  THE    BOKN   FOOL 

Marian  happy,  and  for  ever  conceal  his  hopeless  change  of 
feeling.  His  health  was  better,  and  he  threw  off  those  vague 
besetting  fears  of  the  dark  future,  into  which  he  had  never 
seen.  Of  late  he  had  lived  carefully  in  the  objective,  kept  a 
close  watch  on  the  expression  of  his  own  face,  and  become 
much  more  practised  in  the  art  of  seeming  cheerful.  He 
felt  strongly  in  his  darker  hours  that  all  this  human  life  was 
utterly  trivial,  that  nothing  we  did  really  mattered, — except 
the  duty  just  before  us.  One  must  go  to  bed  and  get  up  each 
day  and  live  that  day  without  outlook,  and  be  philosophical, 
and  in  due  course  all  would  come  to  a  blessed  finality  and 
oblivion — if  one  did  one's  duty. 

But  time  dragged  painfully  this  bright  and  sunny  morn- 
ing. Kirk  had  that  uncomfortable  sense  of  being  in  the  way, 
the  unpleasant  feeling  that  men  have  in  hat-and-corset  shops, 
or  during  birth  of  their  children — a  vague  sense  of  one  led 
captive  in  the  train  of  some  woman-conqueror.  It  has  been 
known  to  men  when  their  partner  in  the  dance  was  very 
lovely,  well  aware  of  it,  and  radiantly  arrayed. 

Nevertheless,  Kirk  was  patient. 

He  rose  next  day  in  better  spirits,  feeling  more  balanced, 
calmer,  and  very  determined.  His  sense  of  humour,  long 
silent,  unexercised,  now  came  oddly  to  his  help  and  the  ef- 
fect was  immediate.  A  mood  of  calm  recklessness,  a  reaction 
of  youth,  visited  him,  and  he  made  semi-cynical  fun  with 
Jane — quite  the  liveliest  member  of  the  family,  he  found,  and 
the  house  once  more  heard  laughter  in  its  rooms. 

Marian  had  slept  well.  This  morning  she  looked  younger, 
rosy,  and  by  Jane  her  heavy,  pale,  beautiful  hair  had  been 
admirably  coiffured. 

"It's  not  lucky!"  laughingly  declared  Jim,  "for  t'  bride- 
groom to  see  bride  before  he's  getten  to  church."  But  Marian 
came  to  Kirk  in  her  wedding  dress,  her  veil  thrown  back,  and 
before  every  one  he  twice  warmly  kissed  her. 

The  morning  was  one  of  the  most  delicious  of  early  sum- 


<*• 

THE   BOEK   FOOL  439 

mer.  A  slight  warm  rain  had  fallen  in  the  night,  but  the 
clouds  had  dispersed  again  before  dawn  and  now  all  was  fresh 
and  sweet.  As  Kirk  drove  down  the  long  main  street,  he  no- 
ticed the  clean  flags  and  setts,  and  through  gaps  in  the  rows 
of  stone  houses,  he  saw  the  distant  moors  all  blue  and  brown, 
and  the  green  pastures  rising  towards  them.  He  caught 
glimpses  of  the  sun  sparkling  in  the  short  wet  mowing  grass 
of  the  sloping  fields,  and  a  lark  was  singing  far  away.  Youth 
re-asserted  the  powers  of  hope  and  some  stray  fleeting  bird 
of  love  flew  into  his  heart  to  settle  there  awhile. 

His  best  man  was  beside  him.  He  was  a  young  Irishman 
and  had  known  Kirk  for  but  a  few  months.  He  had  come 
to  Yorkshire  to  manage  a  new  experimental  mill  for  poplin : 
Kirk  and  he  had  met  at  the  Martineaus',  and  had  talked  of 
music,  and  of  work — for  young  De  Courcy  played  the  violin, 
and,  also,  he  had  invented  an  improved  "Jacquard"  loom. 

Nearly  every  house-door  had  sight-seers.  People  were 
smiling  at  each  other  and  then  at  Kirk  as  he  passed  down  the 
road. 

A  romance  moves  us  nearly  all,  whether  we  will  or  no.  It 
is  deeply  interesting  to  the  mass  of  men,  and  especially  to  all 
women.  We  all  wish  it  happy  fulfilment,  we  all  wish  the  two 
adventurers  good  luck.  We  know  nothing,  as  a  rule,  of  their 
secret  life  and  feelings. 

We  hope,  we  imagine,  we  believe,  that  we  behold  the  verit- 
able fulfilment  of  that  pure  and  joyous  love  we  all  have  heard 
of  and  desired,  but  so  few  of  us  have  found ;  and  if  young,  our 
hearts  infallibly  go  out  to  them  with  warmth,  and  we  say 
fervently  within  ourselves,  "Good  luck  to  them !"  "God  bless 
them!" 

Marian  drove  down  resplendent  in  her  open  carriage,  drawn 
by  a  pair  of  really  spanking  greys.  Jim  accompanied  her. 
Marian  never  had  looked  better,  and  the  good  in  her  heart 
to-day  was  at  the  surface.  Men  and  women  waved  their 
hands  as  she  went  past ;  she  sat  erect,  and  she  smiled  all  the 
time;  but  most  folk  were  in  church.  It  was  packed. 


440  THE   BOKN   FOOL 

Kirk  remembered  making  the  responses,  loudly  and 
mechanically,  defiantly  perhaps, — and  then  it  seemed  they 
were  driving  back  together. 

In  the  vestry  Marian  had  signed  "of  full  age."  Mr.  Vos- 
per  had  demurred  slightly,  it  was  a  novelty  to  him,  but  Kirk 
had  laughed  gently  and  said,  "You  will  find  it  quite  in 
order."  The  old  clergyman  would  take  no  fees,  and  to  Kirk 
he  had  whispered,  "She  is  a  most  devout  girl,  Mr.  Clinton, 
she  has  been  in  my  school-class  since  she  was  a  child.  Marian 
is  fit  to  enter  any  gentleman's  family." 

This  momentarily  hurt  Kirk,  but  he  had  gratefully  pressed 
Mr.  Vesper's  hand,  and  his  old  love  seemed  to  strengthen 
again  and  comfort  him  and  exalt  him. 

He  had  accomplished  his  will.  He  had  done  his  duty.  This 
thought  exalted  him. 


CHAPTER  LVI 

MARIAN  somewhere  had  read  of  Guernsey  and  Sark, 
and  from  then  had  wished  to  spend  her  honeymoon 
in  those  distant  islands.  Besides,  it  sounded  so  grand. 
Every  one  in  Bruside  went  to  Scarborough,  or  Bridlington, 
or  to  more  distant  Blackpool  or  the  Isle  of  Man, — but  no 
one  at  Bruside  had  ever  been  to  Guernsey.  Then,  too,  a  place 
where  Kirk  had  never  been  was  attractive  to  him.  There 
would  be  relief  in  the  complete  change  and  the  sense  of  great 
distance  from  the  North.  Expense  when  counted  up  tended 
to  alter  Marian's  first  desires ;  but  Kirk  had  said,  "A  honey- 
moon comes  once  only,  and  you  might  as  well  have  your  wish, 
Marian.  I  propose  we  do  go.  It  means  merely  that  we  will 
live  in  rooms  a  month  or  two  longer." 

Their  luggage  was  labelled  to  Guernsey,  via  Derby  and 
Weymouth.  They  left  Bruside  soon  after  two  o'clock.  The 
guard  locked  them  in  before  they  left  the  crowded  little  sta- 
tion. It  seemed  that  half  Bruside  was  assembled  on  the 
platform,  and  Kirk  was  touched,  for  as  the  train  drew  out 
all  these  northern  folk  cheered.  In  the  carriage  Kirk  was 
very  gentle  and  affectionate  to  his  wife.  They  carefully  re- 
moved all  confetti  and  rice  from  each  other's  clothes  and 
hair.  He  changed  her  seat,  reminding  her  that  she  felt  best 
when  facing  the  engine.  To-day  his  heart  was  lighter,  his 
mind  satisfied,  he  had  done  his  duty,  he  forgot  the  past,  and 
smiled  affectionately  at  Marian,  who  was  all  rosy.  He  kissed 
her  twice,  and  a  few  happy  tears  ran  down  her  face.  She 
took  his  hand  and  held  it  on  her  lap,  and  looked  out  of  the 
window,  thinking  how  good  God  had  been  to  her. 

When  the  train  entered  the  cotton  areas  of  Lancashire 
they  passed  the  newly  whitewashed  roofs  of  weaving-sheds. 

441 


442  THE    BOKN    FOOL 

Marian  pressed  her  husband's  hand  and  said,  "It  was  you 
got  the  whitewashing,  Kirk.  There's  never  been  any  one  like 
you,  Kirk,  at  my  home." 

At  Birmingham  they  changed  trains.  Evening  had  come, 
and  a  fine  sunset  was  promised  in  the  west. 

"Fancy,  Marian,  I  had  forgotten  to  tell  you — fancy!  we 
shall  go  through  Severnly !  I'll  point  everything  out  to  you ! 
But  we  shall  go  at  an  awful  pace  and  not  stop  there.  This 
very  same  train  has  run  at  the  very  same  time,  ever  since  I 
was  a  boy.  It  is  the  express  I  used  to  tell  you  of,  that  goes 
so  fast,  and  is  marvellously  smooth-running,  and  will  be  very 
much  better  for  your  back  than  any  other  train  that  you  have 
ever  been  in." 

Kirk  had  tipped  the  guard  and  they  were  by  themselves. 
Few  passengers  were  travelling  on  the  Tuesday. 

The  train  ran  faster  and  faster  and  rocked  a  little;  Kirk 
began  to  know  the  country,  and  he  stood  up,  looking  out. 
Strange  feelings  and  yearnings  went  through  him.  He 
turned  to  Marian  but  saw  she  was  not  really  interested — 

"Is  your  back  hurting,  dear  ?" 

"It  is  a  bit,  Kirk,  it's  not  much " 

He  made  her  lie  down ;  purposely  for  this  he  had  hired  a 
pillow,  and  with  the  rug  he  now  made  her  very  comfort- 
able. 

"You  don't  mind  me  looking  out?  These  places — I  know 
them  so— 

"No,  Kirk,  dear,  you  look  out !  I'll  shut  my  eyes  a  bit." 

The  train  swept  along  at  very  great  speed,  and  Kirk  boy- 
ishly timed  a  few  miles. 

"Fancy,  Marian !  isn't  it  an  awful  pace !  I  make  it  seventy 
an  hour !  these  last  three  miles." 

Now  they  approached  Severnly — he  saw  far  ahead  and 
recognised  the  great  trees,  he  knew  each  by  shape,  he  knew 
what  lay  beyond  those  broad  darkening  lammas-lands.  The 
warm  air  they  rushed  through  was  scented  with  hay,  and  the 


THE    BOEK    FOOL  443 

fanners'  men  and  girls  in  the  rich  fields,  hopyards  and 
orchards,  stood  up  to  see  the  boat-express  rock  past.  Some 
waved  hands  to  him.  Kirk  waved  back  to  them. 

"Ah — they  are  tny  dear  people!" 

Far  in  that  great  woodland  lay  the  Ravine!  With  his 
mother  he  had  walked  that  very  field-path.  His  eyes  dimmed 
and  he  tightly  held  the  door-ledge.  Here  he  had  spent  his 
boyhood.  The  sweet  memory  choked  him, — What  was-  it  he 
remembered  that  was  so  unreturnable  in  his  life? 

Lying  on  the  edge  of  the  plain  of  rich  mowing  grass — but 
far  above  it — from  that  spinney  of  graceful  larches  on  the 
rounded  hill  the  boy  Kirk  had  often  looked  down  upon  and 
beyond  the  shimmering  sea  of  grass,  over  many  miles  of 
deeply  wooded  country.  The  distant  white-tented  camp  be- 
low sent  up  faint  bugle-calls,  the  subdued  r-r-up!  of  volley- 
firing  would  come  regularly  to  his  ears,  mingled  with  the 
ceaseless  undisturbed  singing  of  the  larks.  Or  more  haply, 
one  of  the  military  bands  would  be  at  practise,  playing  low 
and  sweet  on  a  hot  fair  summer  day,  and  like  the  listening 
boy,  the  players  felt  the  inspiring  beauteous  land  and  sky, 
the  richness  of  morning.  To  them  also  came  an  ecstasy — 
floating  from  the  far  limits  of  the  endless  seas  of  flowers  and 
grass  in  which  they  were — and  they  played  rapturously, 
so  that  the  boy's  eyes  and  soul  had  filled  with  trembling  and 
intoxication  of  the  spirit,  that  overcame  him  with  sweet  emo- 
tions inarticulate  and  uncontrollable. 

Unexpectedly  the  train  drew  up  at  Severnly.  The  sta-> 
tion,  rather  busy,  looked  just  the  same  to  Kirk.  They  had 
only  altered  the  position  of  the  bookstall. 

He  helped  Marian  to  rise. 

"Yes,  I  feel  better  now  it's  stopped."  She  moved  her  hat 
further  on  to  the  seat  and  smoothed  her  hair.  They  stood 
together,  Kirk  looking  out  above  her  head. 

"Are  you  Mr.  Clinton,  Sir  ?"  asked  the  guard. 

"Yes." 

"One  minute !   there's  a  gentleman  been  looking  for  you." 


444  THE    BOKN    FOOL 

He  went  away  quickly.  Kirk  saw  his  father  coming,  and  for 
the  first  time  it  occurred  to  him  that  his  father  was  very 
handsome.  The  guard  unlocked  the  door  and  stood  aside. 
His  father  stepped  up  lightly  into  the  carriage. 

"Is  this  your  wife,  Kirkpatrick  ?" 

"Yes,  father." 

The  elder  man  smiled  courteously,  took  her  by  her  upper 
arms  and  gallantly  kissed  her;  he  then  gave  her  a  choice 
rose. 

Kirk  shook  hands  with  his  father.  He  was  puzzled  and 
amused.  Mary  must  have  asked  him  to  come  and  see  them. 
.  .  .  She  must  have  said  Marian  was  rather  good-looking 
...  he  knew  his  father. 

"Train  going  on  now,  Sir !" 

Outside,  Mr.  Clinton  said,  "You  wrote  me  nothing  of  your 
wedding,  Kirk — or  I  should  have  sent  a  present — I  have  just 
bought  a  very  good  painting  that  you  shall  have.  God  bless 
you  both." 

"Isn't  he  an  extraordinary  man?"  said  Kirk,  smilingly. 
"We  may  never  see  the  present,  Marian,  he  will  very  likely 
forget  all  about  it,  or  put  it  off  and  off  till  he  forgets." 

"But  wasn't  it  nice  of  him  to  kiss  me  like  that?"  And 
she  smelt  the  rose. 

"Yes,  he  can  be  a  great  man  with  the  ladies,  if  he  likes  to 
be  ...  he  seems  to  have  altered  again." 

At  Bath  they  stayed  ten  minutes.  Here  many  passengers 
awaited  the  boat-train  for  Weymouth.  The  new  guard 
walked  along,  scanning  the  passengers,  and  he  stopped  when 
he  saw  Kirk,  who  had  taken  his  seat. 

"Are  you  through  to  Guernsey,  Sir?" 

"Yes,"  said  Kirk,  promptly  producing  the  tickets. 

"Would  you  mind  having  a  young  lady  in  with  you,  Sir  ? 
She's  by  herself,  I  said  I'd  put  her  in  with  someone  going 
right  through." 


THE    BOEN   FOOL  445 

"Oh  yes!  all  right!" — Kirk  smiled  at  Marian,  who  as- 
sented. 

A  pretty  girl  of  sixteen,  very  shy,  who  told  them  she  was  a 
Channel  Islander,  journeyed  with  them  the  rest  of  the  way. 
She  and  Marian  soon  became  friendly  and  at  ease. 

Kirk  felt  happy  in  looking  after  these  two,  seeing  to  the 
luggage,  escorting  them  on  board,  finding  seats  for  them, 
and  booking  sleeping  berths.  The  future  was  a  blank.  He 
had  made  rapid  progress  in  the  art  of  living,  minute  by 
minute,  in  a  narrowed  consciousness. 

They  sat  in  deck  chairs,  for  the  night  was  still  and  per- 
fect. Over  the  motionless  dusky  sea  rose  the  full  moon, 
enormous  and  golden.  "The  honeymoon,"  whispered  Marian 
to  Kirk.  No  one  suspected  they  were  on  their  wedding  trip. 
Through  looking  after  Marian  for  so  long  Kirk  had  ac- 
quired a  husbandly  manner  that  deceived. 

The  huge  cliff-like  peninsula  of  Portland,  on  their  right, 
seemed  to  glide  by  them  silently  mile  by  mile.  About  one 
hour  after  the  winking  lights  had  died  away  upon  the  dark 
English  shore,  Kirk  carried  the  young  girl's  rugs  and  things 
below,  and  committed  her  to  the  stewardess :  whom  he  tipped, 
telling'  her  to-  see  the  young  lady  was  quite  comfortable ;  but 
Marian  greatly  feared  sea-sickness,  and  dare  not  go  below,  nor 
darelshe  eat.  So  Kirk  wrapped  her  well  up  in  the  rug,  in  the 
deck  chair.  He  put  his  overcoat  on,  and  all  night  they  re- 
mained on  deck.  For  some  hours  they  both  slept. 

Very  early  Kirk  awakened.  Glorious  with  sunrise  was  the 
sky.  A  homeward  ship  with  every  white  sail  set  and  full 
towered  close  at  hand :  she  looked  swanlike,  serene,  beautiful ; 
she  rocked  very  slowly  and  the  gently  parted  water  rippled 
from  beneath  her  graceful  bows.  Nowhere  showed  another 
ripple — for  the  broad  and  tranquil  bosom  of  the  sea  lay 
spread  with  slowly  undulating  changing  sheens  of  silver, 
rose,  and  golden  light — reflected  from  the  splendours  and  the 
dazzling  face  of  youthful  Helios. 


446  THE    BOKN   FOOL 

But  Marian  slept  on,  and  Kirk,  looking  upon  her,  ob- 
served her  pallor  and  fatigue,  and  felt  a  deep  protectiveness. 
Presently  she  awoke  and  he  persuaded  her  to  eat  dry  bis- 
cuits and  drink  the  hot  coffee  he  had  brought. 

By  half  past  eight  they  were  being  taken  to  their  bed- 
room, in  a  most  delightful  and  old-fashioned  boarding-house, 
yisitors  at  this  time  of  year  were  few  in  number.  The  wife 
of  the  proprietor,  who,  it  was  plain  to  Kirk,  was  a  lady, 
opened  a  door  that  led  from  their  large  and  pretty  room  into 
a  little  chamber. 

"We  use  this  as  a  dressing-room  when  we  are  not  full.  We 
thought  you  would  like  it." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Kirk,  and  bowed  slightly. 

Mrs.  Maigny  left  the  room  and  closed  the  door. 

Marian,  never  having  had  a  dressing-room,  made  no  use 
of  this.  Her  husband  knelt  and  unlocked  the  trunks  and 
took  things  out  and  was  about  to  stand  up.  After  a  moment 
of  embarrassment  Marian  brushed  aside  her  feelings  with  a 
kind  of  contempt.  She  was  far  too  done  up  to  trouble,  and 
now  dear  Kirk  was  her  husband. 

Of  the  honeymoon  only  one  more  day  remained. 

The  heavens  were  brilliant  azure.  Burning  in  the  zenith 
stood  the  sun.  The  rocks  in  the  sea,  hundreds  of  isolate 
conical  points,  strangely  pink  of  hue,  showed  stern  and  fixed ; 
some  were  miles  from  land — bright  pink  rocks  in  a  sea  of 
pure  deepest  azure  that  slowly  moved  and  dreamed,  at  lowest 
ebb — gorgeous  and  tropic  as  the  proud  Persian  bird  spread- 
ing in  the  noonday  sun.  Never  before  had  these  two  looked 
on  or  imagined  such  a  sea  of  colour.  Near  them  the  water 
changed  to  emerald,  and  then  to  amber,  edged  by  the  glowing 
whiteness  of  the  curving  sand. 

But  the  multitude  of  sharply-pointed  rocks,  that  stood  far 
out  amid  the  azure,  were  watchful,  dreadful,  warlike  as  spikes 
of  brass  on  the  burnished  helms  of  motionless  cavalry.  They 
were  menacing  as  fangs. 


THE    BORN    FOOL  447 

Kirk  and  Marian  gazed  silently  upon  this  wonderful  siesta 
of  these  countless  tigers  of  the  torridian  sea. 

Far  out  among  those  pale-pink  fangs  of  rock — where  they 
received  the  long  oceanic  swell — where  the  splendid  azure 
water  burst  into  a  seldom  and  vanishing  snowy  foam,  lay 
chained  a  sentinel  of  hoary  iron  that  even  in  this  blazing, 
still,  breathless  noon  moved  with  unrest. 

At  long  and  slow  unceasing  measured  intervals  it  rose, 
and  as  it  sank  again  it  breathed  across  the  blue  a  deep  and 
far-heard,  most  sorrowful  "Ah.  ..."  "Ah.  ..." 

Here  had  come  to  Eoquaine  the  newly  married,  and  Kirk 
had  brought  a  luncheon  basket,  with  wine;  and  towels  for 
bathing.  He  had  come  here  in  a  calm  mind — the  deathly 
calmness  that  precedes  typhoons — all  his  thoughts  banished 
for  the  time — living  from  hour  to  hour  in  the  present ;  drift- 
ing, living  for  once  unconscious,  in  the  sun's  glorious  light 
and  heat. 

He  had  disturbed  the  crabs  gently  with  his  stick,  for  it 
pleased  Marian  so  much  to  see  them  run,  striking  with  their 
raised  claws. 

Now  they  were  seated  by  each  other,  gazing  out  from  be- 
neath the  shadow  of  a  gnarled  old  tamarisk,  that  spread 
feathery  boughs  over  the  topmost  granite  pebbles  of  Roquaine 
— and  that  crying  came  from  the  sea,  and  came,  and  came, 
and  Kirk  began  to  think. 

And  all  against  her  trembling  will — to  Marian  came  the 
memory  of  those  dread  moments  she  had  felt,  when  she  had 
verged  by  dullest  intuition  on  the  meaning  of  his  strange- 
ness. 

These  two  human  beings  fell  motionless  and  silent,  and 
listened,  each  in  their  separate  hearts.  The  young  man's 
hand  crept  to  his  heart  and  nerves,  unknowingly  he  held  his 
hand  pressed  against  his  heart. 

Each  foreboded,  for  each    beheld  in    spirit    the    distant 


448  THE   BOKN    FOOL 

shadow  of  the  inevitable  that  approached  them  from  beyond 

this  lovely  place  and  day. 

A  whole  week  had  passed  in  which  Kirk  and  Marian  had 
remained  at  tension -unchanged  in  their  relations. 

But  Nature-frowning  upon  their  disobedience-tran- 
scended their  disharmonies,  their  spiritual  and  mental  oppo! 

tions,  and  was  obeyed. 

Marian— far  more  than  he— experienced  the  brief,  novel, 
but  tremendous  passion-pleasure  of  the  physical  union- 
Ms  was  darkly  intershot  and  stressed  by  the  intermingled 
lacking  of  those  sweetest-in-life,  wonderfully  intimate  emo- 
tiona-of  the  soul  and  the  spirit-so  present  and  essential 
in  the  first,  blest  triple-consummation  of  a  pair 
refined  true-lovers. 

The    Mother-goddess,    Nature— who    is    She    but    pure 
Divinest  Law?-She  for  a  brief  spell  had  eased  the  mys- 
terious polar  tensions  of  the  physical;  but  on  these  racially 
perverted  ones-children  -of  centuries  and  centuries  of 
obedience  to  Law-on  these  she  could  in  nowise  bestow  her 
exquisite  counter-joys  of  spiritual  and  mental  consumma- 
tion: and  so,  ceasing  interest  in  her  one-time  worshipper 
we  see  her  smile,  Deafly  but  pitifully,  at  the  sad  and  in- 
durated falsities  and  bondages  of  human  thought  a 

She  passes  on,  eternal,  punishing  or  blessing,  see 
ever  for  humans  unclouded,  balanced,  c  ear-thoughted  and 
heroic_WOrthy  not  in  body  only  but  in  mind  and  spirit 
wTse!7o   fulfil   her   perfect    beauty,    loves,    and    heavenly 
inspiration. 


THE  END 


A     000114403     9 


